Could go Sho over Sean.

What I was most leaning towards.

Only, ‘Sean’ was what I responded to. In the world.

They called Sean and I answered.

So then: the matronym?

That was woke.

She who raised me.

Why should he get all the names?

Not to mention, as I’d only recently learned, Conroe wasn’t even my birth great-grandpa. That was Rucker. Only Rucker hung himself when grandpa, Rucker’s son, was one. Step-great-grandpa Conroe came later, when grandpa was eight. And only for four years. Conroe left grandpa’s ma when grandpa in his teen years.

Rucker, though.

Crank out your first son.

Baby suddenly hogging all the wifey’s attention.

Fuck this…I’m out!

At least he just hung himself.

Bullets are messy.

Wouldn’t wanna make a mess.

So I guess Rucker would be the last option.

The pure-blood, patronymic.

But no.

Fuck Rucker.

Bitch ass.

Bowed out before the game even started.

Ahhhh.

This coffee hitting.

Moon peaking!

Bursting.

Stubbed out my cig.

Started rolling another.

Sho.

Had to be.

The writing self was the private self.

The hidden self.

Fa shoooo.

Guy I hadn’t seen before, coming down the street.

Walking quickly.

Not carrying anything.

Timed my ‘What up, man’ head nod with when he passed.

He’d already been looking up at me when I looked up.

Held his gaze.

Lingered.

I lingered.

“Got another of those?”

“Suuure,” I said, beckoning like Pull up a chair.

He sat on the top step leading up to the stoop.

Level with the stoop.

“Here, have this one,” I said, handing him the one I’d just lit.

Sat back down on my chair wedged between the dresser drawers and bedside table I’d found, separately, in trash piles.

Started rolling myself another.

When I looked up again he was looking up at me again.

Dragging, head tilted, gaze intense.

Like ‘checking me out’ intense.

“Ah, this moon though, huh?” I said.

He looked up at the moon.

After some moments, once I’d gotten my cig going, “What you doing out and about this late, anyhow?”

“Shoot,” he said, shifting. “You know.”

I looked up. Like No, not really.

“Just out here trolling?”

“Just out here. Tryna get it.”

“It?”

“That fire. I need that fire.”

“I see,” I said. “That fire, yes.”

I dragged.

He dragged.

“You stay around here?”

He indicated a direction.

“OK,” I said. “Well hey, what’s your name.”

“Shawn.”

I looked at him eyes wide.

Like Gotta be kidding me.

“Bro mine too!”

I stood, walked over, and dapped him up before, not knowing where else to walk, returning to my seat and sitting.

“Ess aitch? Ess ee ay?”

“Ess aitch.”

“OK. I’m ess ee ay. But hey. Sounds the same, innit”—observing, based on the acceleration of my speech, that the stimulants were hitting.

He smiled, amused.

Dragged.

I dragged.

“So you just out here—”

“Hey,” he said, serious suddenly.

“You hung?”