Roomie bae was committed to it though.

To that Hood Life.

Took her pops to the bodega a block north I never even went to.

On the intersection of 41st and Lancaster that always had mad people posted in it, straight lounging.

Merking tall cans no matter the time o’ day.

They came back with saltines, a generic-brand block of cheese, some type of ‘cured meats’ that were more cold cuts.

‘Hors d’oeuvres.’

Lol.

Bro I was so flared up when I got back they were actually shook.

I was posted upside down, on my back, on the downstairs futon, with icepacks on my ankles elevated up on the wall.

They were like Bruh—you good?

Your ankles look pretty fucked bruh.

Yo you hella red tho.

Yeeeah man, I said.

Pretty inflamed bro! I said, scaring roomie bae’s dad I think.

Like Yo—who tf is this dude you decided to move in with?

Naaah I heard cold showers are supposed to help though! I said.

Gonna take one now.

I think big cuz E musta group-texted my sisters, bc both called within the next 48, acting like they hadn’t known how fucked I was but asking about it directly.

Lil sis called and asked how I was.

I remember she called me right when I’d awoken, just after the sun had set.

On my way downstairs to make coffee.

Feeling so fucked.

So swollen.

Lump in my throat.

My voice, as I tried to feign okayness, sounded so foreign.

“I’m…you know…still here.”

She was like I think you should come home.

To LA.

To Mama’s till you’re better.

“I mean,” I said.

“I fkng would bruh!” I said.

“But I’m broke af yo,” I said.

She said she knew this.

“And that’s why I wanna buy you a plane ticket out here, Seanie,” she said.

Fuuuck bruh.

This fucked me up.

“What?!” I said.

“You don’t need to do that,” I said.

“I’m a piece of shit, I don’t deserve that,” I said.

“Seanie,” she said. “Don’t even worry about it.”

All the massage clients she’d gotten through a company she recently left left with her, so now she was working the same but without the company taking their 70% cut.

“I just want you to be OK,” she said.

The lump in my throat was so thick, I was choking.

But I reduced my responses to masculine grunts and Unhs, sounding like the nonverbal Japanese animated boys in early Miyazaki movies.

In short: I held it together.

The minute I hung up, though.

Crumpled into a heap on the kitchen floor.

Flood gates fkng busted wide open.

Type of bawling with a baseline moan that sounded mewly, vaguely goat-like I wanna say.

Like a baby goat.

An abandoned baby goat, stranded in the cold, bleating for his mama.

But mama ain’t coming back.

She long gone.

Shiiit, she done died, bruh.