“Peace God!” Eight shouted, giving Paul a pound. He tried to dap Larry up, but the big man looked at him as if he couldn’t be serious. “A’ight, a’ight,” Eight said, and nodded at Larry, then turned his attention back to Paul. “Yo, I just got finished pressing up these CDs, God.” Eight held up a CD case with a hand-drawn image on a folded sheet of notebook paper that served as the cover.

“That’s what’s up, my dude. Congratulations,” Paul said sincerely.

Eight put down the kickstand to hold his bike up and went to stand beside the two men. His eyes held a vacant look as he continued talking to Paul. “Word, God, I’m ’bout to blow up out here, word is bond!”

Larry looked at Eight as if his very presence was an offense. “Yo, what’s up with you and this ‘God’ shit?”

“Son, I just came into the knowledge,” Eight said as if it was common knowledge. “I be the God Wise. Wise words spoken by as wise man,” Eight almost sang.

Larry and Paul looked at each other. Every other week Eight came outside on some other shit. One week he might be a born-again Christian and the next week he might be a stick-up kid. All the medication he’d taken caused him to live in several different realities. Eight kind of knew he was off kilter, but he didn’t mind too much. The $675 a month that he got from the government coupled with his other hustles insured that he didn’t have to worry about a job where he would be asked to think anyhow.

Larry had finally gotten tired of listening to the man. “Yo, you’re straight up full of shit. Don’t nobody wanna hear your plan of the month, Crazy Eight. Get up outta here, you’re scaring all the bitches away.”

Eight looked at Larry as if he wanted to cry. “Why you gotta come at me like that?”

“’Cause don’t nobody wanna hear that stupid shit you’re kicking.”

“Leave the nigga alone, Larry. You know Eight ain’t got it all.”

“That’s a’ight, fam.” Eight gave Paul a pound. “It’s all love.” Eight’s eyes suddenly took on a maddened glare as he spun to face Larry. “Yo, y’all niggaz better watch how the fuck you talk to me! On the real, I’m ’bout to start putting niggaz in wheelchairs.”

“What?” Larry moved closer to him with balled fists.

Eight cringed and became sane again. “I wasn’t talking to you, my dude, we fam. I was talking to them bitch-ass niggaz over there.” Eight nodded at a group of men who hadn’t so much as looked in his direction. “Them niggaz be trying to play me like I’m soft. I got love on these streets, feel me?” He held his hand out and Larry looked past it.