“Fuck you, Paul. If you didn’t want to talk, you should’ve said so. You ain’t gotta have Larry lie for you.”

“Rhonda, what the hell are you talking about? Never mind. What do you want?”

“I was calling to tell you that your son needs some sneakers.”

“Sneakers? Didn’t I give you the money for a pair of sneakers two weeks ago?” he asked.

“I had to go tap into that. These muthafuckas at the welfare fucked up on my food stamps, so I had to use cash when I went shopping. We gotta eat, don’t we?”

Paul let out a long sigh. “Rhonda, how many times do I have to tell you about budgeting?”

“Budgeting? Paul, you seem to forget that I got three kids. Welfare don’t hardly give me shit, so I gotta make due with what I got.”

“Rhonda, you get welfare and Social Security. What the fuck do you do with your money?”

“Me and my kids got expenses. You know how much Pooh’s sneakers cost? That little muthafucka is wearing grown man sizes now. Let’s not forget how much it cost to clothe us all. You know I don’t put my kids in no cheap shit.”

“Rhonda, you know this job I got ain’t really paying shit, so the money is tight. When I give you something for P.J., you gotta stretch it.”

“Stretch it?” Rhonda asked nasally. “Shit, you act like you be setting it out like that. That little bit of money you drop off ain’t really nothing. I got three kids.”

“Yeah, and I only have one,” he reminded her.

“Oh, I forgot how you do it. Paul is only concerned about P.J. Fuck the rest of us, huh?”

“Rhonda, don’t make it like I don’t hit you with bread for all of them when I have it. I don’t see you calling none of your other babies’ fathers singing them the same bullshit story.”

“That’s because they ain’t shit. Them niggaz ain’t never do nothing for my kids.”

“So I gotta suffer because they’re fucked up?”

“You know what? Forget it, Paul. You ain’t gotta give me shit. I should’ve listened to my mother and put P.J. on my budget. That way I wouldn’t have to ask nobody for shit. That’s okay, though, I’ll just talk to my worker in the morning.”

“Why you always gotta fuck with me?” Paul asked heatedly. “You know damn well I ain’t letting you make my son no welfare baby. As long as I can get out and work, P.J. ain’t going on no damn welfare. It’ll be just my luck, I’ll finally sell one of my paintings and welfare will want their cut for some shit you put together. It ain’t gonna happen, Rhonda.”