“Yeah, girl! What’s up? I ain’t seen you in a minute!” she said like she was really glad to see me.

I instantly felt self-conscious. There I was dressed in some raggedy jeans and an old sweatshirt that I usually wear when I clean the apartment on weekends.

As Diane spoke, my brain kept trying to understand how one goes from barely coming to work, to being dressed in the finest gear and sporting a look that dripped money. When she pressed the alarm button and that pretty ride beeped, I was too through.

“You okay?” she asked.

I looked at the car then back at her, still dumbfounded. “Um, I ah-” I stuttered, but I was taking in everything fabulous about the new Diane. At five feet seven and one hundred and forty pounds, Diane was beautiful. Her once short hair had been replaced by long wavy and flowing tresses. She blinged from her ears to her neck to her wrists. The chick was iced out, and she looked good. “Ah, Diane, what’s up? I mean, did you hit the number or something?” I needed to know.

She scrunched up her pretty face. “Number? Nah, girl, I ain’t hit no number.” She chuckled.

I looked at the car again and then back at her. This time her eyes followed mine.

“Oh shit!” she started. “Girl, that ain’t nothin’,” she testified, motioning toward the car. “You ain’t gonna make any real money punchin’ no damn clock. I can tell you that much for sure,” she said.

“Well, what do you mean?” I asked her.

She pulled me to the side, closer to her car. “Look, why don’t you go get you soma Fat Larry’s chicken,” she suggested.

I shook my head reluctantly. It was like I didn’t want to leave her for fear that when I came back, she, that car, and my chance to make some real money, might be gone.

“Go on, I’ll wait right here for you,” she promised.

I glanced at her and the car one last time before going inside. When I walked outside and saw Diane sitting behind the wheel of her car, I gladly climbed into her luxury car and leaned back in the passenger seat like I belonged there.