Last time I checked, I was tipping the scales at 225. I’m thanking about doing some kind of exercise this year, since they say it can extend your life, make you feel better, something about some metamorphins get in your brain and make you feel like you on dope. I ain’t never wanted to know what dope feel like, but I know I could stand to drop a few pounds. Brenda said she never even noticed how big my stomach was, and when she did, said it didn’t bother her none. She said it made a nice cushion. Plus, she said I’m a good man. Not many of us around. She been looking in the wrong places. But she said, “I ain’t been looking nowhere. I wanted to be found.” Well, I found her. And she love my Jheri Curl. She got one, too. Sorta. Hers is long. But sometime Brenda’s cousin who wanna be a hairdresser one day practice doing fancy stuff on her even though Brenda say she just really wanna get her hair braided when she get enough money ’cause braids cost a lot more than a curl. I’ma see what I can do about that.

She ain’t got no father over there for them kids, which is why she on welfare. She don’t like living in the projects (I don’t either) and she been trying to find work, but what she really wanna do is go back to school to get her GED. She said she wanna do better for herself. And her kids. I’ma help her. But first she trying to figure out if she should go to AA. First thangs first. She have trouble realizing when she drunk. I like a little taste myself, but I ain’t crazy about that drunk feeling: spinning and not knowing what I’m saying, or being confused about my whereabouts and what have you. This is another reason why Brenda likes me. She say I know how to control myself. But that ain’t completely true. I got a continuing weakness for them tables. To be honest, we both need help. I thank we can probably push each other in the right direction, but not until we get serious. I ain’t quite threw the dice away yet. Even still, she appreciates me. And when I win, I brang it home to her. Everythang I do for her, she always say thank you. Viola could learn something from this woman.

Her kids is still kids. Africa, who they call Sunshine, is eighteen months. Hakeem is three. And Quantiana’s five. I call her Miss Q. Why do young black folks give their kids names can’t nobody hardly remember let alone spell or pronounce? And why would you name a child after a country instead of a relative? These kids is bad, but I like ’em. And they like me. They thank I’m they granddaddy, but it don’t bother me none. Miss Q and Hakeem’s daddy might be dead, Brenda ain’t sure, but she heard somebody shot him last year. Sunshine’s daddy is somewhere running around Vegas. I know him. Took his money in a crap game once. He ain’t worth nothing. Somebody gotta take care of these kids, why not me? I don’t mind one bit. It’s nice to feel needed.