“Listen, Paul. What you call ‘the motions,’ I call effective communication. I believe in expressing myself to my significant other, to prevent confusion of certain shit. You should be glad that I bring things to your attention, instead of seeking comfort elsewhere.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I know you ain’t trying to get fly,” he accused heatedly.

“No.” She sighed. “Paul, all I’m saying is, when couples feel like they can’t communicate, one, if not both, of them ends up turning to others for that understanding. Baby, I love you too much to have our relationship turn into a Lifetime movie.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, still unconvinced.

“Let’s not fight, baby.” She softened her tone. “You know I love you, and cherish the time that I get to spend with you. Look, do what you need to do in Harlem, and if you can’t make it, I’ll understand.”

“I’m gonna try, Mar.”

“That’s good enough, for now. Love you.”

“Love you, too, baby.”

Click.

4

That had to be the sweetest shit I ever heard,” a voice called from behind Paul. Larry was standing there, wearing an ear-to-ear grin and clutching a black liquor store bag.

“Fuck you, Larry,” Paul said playfully.

“I love you, too, baby,” Larry repeated. “Youz a good dude, Paul.”

The two men’s ribbing session was broken up when a ten-speed bike rolled to a squeaky stop next to them. The rider’s face was young, but his eyes held untold years behind them. He was of medium build with light skin and a nappy afro. A Dusty knapsack was slung over his shoulder with unidentifiable stains on it. The small boom box on the handlebars pumped a muffled tune that no one was really familiar with. The bike rider gave Paul and Larry a warm smile that caused them to sigh. Eight was in the building.

Crazy Eight was a cat from 110th and Columbus. He had always been a little out there, but had never been as bad as he was now. Eight had a learning disorder and his mother sought to come up off his disability. She applied for SSI, but was ordered to put the young boy on medication in order to prove the validity of the claim. In her greed, she gave the boy the medication without thinking about the long-term side effects of medicating a child who didn’t need it. The chemicals ended up having an irreversible effect, causing brain damage. It seemed like the older Eight got, the worse his condition became. He was functional enough to move around in the streets and try to pass for normal, but anyone who spoke with Crazy Eight could tell he wasn’t all there.