Paul sucked his teeth and walked over to his closet. “There’s probably gonna be a bunch of young hood niggaz up in there.”

Larry strode over to where Paul was standing and began thumbing through his shirts. Paul wasn’t really a dressy nigga, but he kept a few nice pieces from the days of his con game, which still fit.

“Come on, dawg, stop shooting hole all in the shit and roll,” Larry said, eyeballing a green shirt of soft woven cotton. “You might even get some pussy ’cause you rolling with me.”

Paul playfully shoved his friend on his way back to the small square that was designated the common area. He flopped onto his stool and reached for the clip that had burned out minutes prior. Examining the blunt momentarily, he pressed the coils of his flint lighter against it. The smoke stung his eyes, shoving a tear down the side of his nose. Paul held the smoke before releasing it into the air. His eyes took on a glassy look, then became very sharp. As if Larry wasn’t even in the room, Paul turned to his easel and stared at it.

“Larry, you think you’re the fucking man,” Paul called over his shoulder, dipping a thin brush into a bit of violet goop. “I don’t need you to get no pussy, my game is tight.”

“Nigga, yo game is stale!” Larry shouted, grabbing a box of Timberlands from the top of the closet. “Paul, we used to kill these hos, but since you got all loved the fuck up, you be on some bullshit.”

“Nigga, ’cause I’m trying to be good to my shorty my game is stale?”

Larry tossed the box and shirt on a swivel chair. “Ain’t nothing wrong with being good to your girl, but you still gotta recognize your base nature. Treat yaself to a little fun, kid.” Larry took the blunt from him. “You ain’t married yet.” Giving his buddy a wink, Larry began rummaging though the refrigerator for a beer.

“Now you got jokes,” Paul said, accepting one of the two Heinekens that Larry had managed to scare up. “Just because I got a girl doesn’t mean that I’m not the same dude, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean I’m getting married.”

“Paul, you my dude, I ain’t mad at you. I’m just saying, you gotta live a little. You can’t spend all your time up Marlene’s ass.”

Paul was tight, but he tried not to show it. Every so often the fellas would tease him about the amount of time he spent with Marlene. He enjoyed spending time with his girl, but he had to admit that he missed hanging out with his boys. It had been ages since he had been out anywhere other than local spots.