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first birthday. Chandra stressed me too fucking much about my lack of money and school.

    I was already busting my balls with overtime at the job. We lived in a basement apartment and I was tired of living underneath everyone.
    My job provided medical benefits and flight privileges. She never complained when I used my benefits to vacation with her in South Beach , Miami , Barbados , Jamaica , even Hawaii. She wanted a house with lots of windows and cars. She always whined about taking the train back and forth to work. Chandra was a fashion fanatic. She loved clothes and had more clothes than Macy’s but she wanted more. Although she was a good mother to our son, we separated.
    I moved in with my mother and Aunt Linda staying in the basement living an average life.

Two
    My last day of work, I got drunk with a few fellows at a bar on Rockaway Blvd. It was the end of the day and I was in my uniform throwing back Coronas and E&J not thinking about unemployment. I stared at the TV watching a clip of President Bush as he spoke to the nation about Osama Ben Laden and the war on terror.
    “Muthafuckas fucked up and we lose our jobs,” Billy exclaimed. “Shit, they need to lay off Bush and that bitch, Rice. We the ones who suffer in the long run—the working man’s always last.”
    “I hear that shit,” Roger, my ex-coworker concurred.
    “He got some fucking nerves being on TV talking about the war… that muthafucka is terror. They need to knock his ass down like they did the towers,” Billy, my other ex-coworker joked.
    “We gonna miss you and your lisp, Vin. We can still roll wit’ you…” Billy said raising his bottle.
    “You said that wit’ just like Vince does,” laughed Roger chugging.
    I joined in the laughter.
    Billy and Roger were white and been at the company two years longer than me. When the pink slips were handed out, it didn’t matter if you were white or black. We were all in the same predicament—fucked.
    I continued to down drink after drink. The news was too depressing to keep watching. Billy asked the bartender to change it. The Yankees were playing. I didn’t like baseball so I turned my attention elsewhere. Scanning the bar, I did a double-take when I spotted a girl I went to high school with. Sharice was standing by the pool table with a couple goons.

    I remembered wanting to hit ‘em panties a long time ago. She was sexy, popular and everyone wanted a piece. Seven years had gone by but Sharice was looking good. She wore tight fitted jeans that highlighted her hips and a white top that left all her cleavage exposed.
    She caught me looking. I smiled. Sharice was stuck on herself. From all the clarity in the ice she flossed on her neck, wrist and fingers, she had snatched up a baller.
    I perked up and decided to holler at her as she strutted my way in five-inch stilletos. Her swagger could teach Beyonce a thing. Sharice snapped her fingers at the bartender while standing next to me without any acknowledgment. Her presence got my dick hard.
    “Sharice, right…?” I asked.
    “Do I know you, nigga?” she said with attitude.
    “We went to high school together… had classes together during your senior year. I know you ain’t tyrin’ a play a nigga, now,” I smiled.
    “That ugly uniform you wearing, it’s that easy for me to forget you,” she snapped back. “What you make ten…twelve dollars an hour? You can’t afford me, so step the fuck off.”
    Her response smacked the smile off my face. I was flushed with embarrassment.
    “Oh, so you think you the shit now…bitch, you a fuckin’ gold-digger,” I barked. She had pissed me off.
    “Don’t get stupid. My peoples are over there and one word from me and they’ll have you laid out on Rockaway Blvd.”
    “Vince, we don’t need any trouble,” Billy said.
    “I’m tryin’ to show this bitch some luv and she getting ill. Fuckin ho!”
    “You ‘bout to get fucked up,” she said tossing the drink in my face.
    “Sharice, you