When it was done, there was an uncomfortable silence between them. Neither had meant for it to happen, but they couldn’t deny the fact that it was magical. They both agreed that they’d keep their romp quiet for the time being, not exactly sure where it would go from there. The last thing they needed were wild rumors circulating through the hood that could potentially fuck up a good thing. For as much as she wanted to run to him and kiss his face, she knew she couldn’t blow it up. Instead, she returned his nod and kept it moving.

“Damn, I’d love to fuck that bitch,” Spooky said, watching Yoshi walk up the block. Jah just remained silent, his eyes fixed on Yoshi. “Yo, I heard she do something real strange for a little bit of change.” Spooky, thinking he had said something clever, reached his hand out for a pound. Jah just stared at it.

“Sometimes you talk too much,” he told Spooky.

“That ain’t nobody but freak-ass Yoshi. Stop acting like that, Jah.”

“See, that’s the reason you don’t get no pussy. Everything that comes out of your mouth about a bitch is derogatory,” Jah said. “How long have we known Yoshi and you’re over here talking about her like a dog?”

Spooky raised an eyebrow. “Jah, since when are you worried about me shitting on a bitch? Nigga, you’re just as foul as I am, and you out here on your women’s lib shit? Let me find out you feeling that ho. A-ha.” he suddenly chuckled, “Jah’s in love with a stripper,” he sang, mimicking T-Pain’s single.

Anger flashed across Jah’s face, but he checked himself before responding to Spooky’s accusation. “Dawg, how long you known me and you acting like you don’t know my style. My heart is cold as a December morning, so don’t press me on no sucker-for-love shit. All I’m saying is that I don’t always feel like hearing that shit.” Jah turned away.

“Sprung-ass nigga,” Spooky mumbled.

About then, Crazy Eight had come back with the Dutch Master and a twenty-two-ounce bottle of St. Ides wrapped in a plastic bag. “Yo, you want some?” Eight asked, trying to hand the beer to Jah.

“Nah, I’m good.” True pushed it away. “Yo,” he turned to Spooky, “let’s go smoke that in the park.”

“Why we can’t smoke it right here?” Spooky asked, splitting the blunt open and dumping the guts all over the front steps of the building where they were loitering.

“Because I don’t want these old folks who live here tripping about us ignorant-ass niggaz fucking up their stoop with our drug paraphernalia. Not to mention we’re two doors down from a funeral home and half a block from the precinct.”