Paul became defensive. “I ain’t trying to hear that shit, man. Rhonda is a bitch and a half, but the kid is innocent. I love my seed and I’m gonna make sure he’s good.”

“And I applaud you for that.” Larry lit the blunt. “But the downside to having a kid with a bitch who ain’t about nothing is you’re bound to her and her bullshit.”

“Man, what Rhonda eats don’t make me shit. She has her life and I have mine. We don’t fuck with each other like that.”

“And that still ain’t stopping her from throwing a monkey wrench in your shit every chance she gets. How many times have you been trying to get your quality time with Marlene and Rhonda blows your phone up?”

“Man, what am I supposed to do, ban her from calling my phone? It could be something with P.J.”

“Paul, you know that chick calls your phone just to piss Marlene off. She’s on the other end of your jack twenty times a day, whether it’s about P.J. or not. She’s just a royal pain in the ass. If you analyze it, you know I’m right.”

“Thank you, Maury. Any more relationship advice?”

“I just call ’em like I see ’em, Paul.”

“Fuck you. What the hell are you doing here anyway?”

“I came by to see my dude.” Larry passed the weed off. “Figured you might like to come out of the dungeon for a while and have some fun.”

“What you trying to get into?”

“Hit a few blocks and see what’s good in the hood. I hear there’s a game at the Kingdome today. You know it’s always bitches out there, kid.”

“Oh, hell yeah!” Paul said excitedly. “Give me a few minutes to wash this paint off and get dressed.”

“That’s my nigga. Make it happen.”

Paul went off into the bathroom to start getting ready, leaving Larry in the living room, smoking. He paced the tiny living area, examining the different works that Paul had on display. Larry always marveled at how talented his friend was. Though he was from a world of ugliness, same as everyone else, he still managed to find some beauty in it. Paul had really thrown himself into his art since P.J. was born. He wanted to provide the life for his son that he had been so long deprived. The job market wasn’t offering him much above minimum wage, so it was vital that he succeed with his artwork. If he could manage to break into the circuit by selling a few paintings, just maybe, P.J. would have a chance.