Daddy Long Stroke полностью

“Two nights? And you didn’t answer ya shit. Oh yeah, muhfucka, you knew you had it comin’. Then you probably stumbled up in there smellin’ like pussy. Nigga, you was askin’ for shit to pop off.”

“I ain’t beat. She’ll get over it.”

I laugh. “Yeah, and in the meantime, ya dumb ass walkin’ ’round homeless and bare-assed ’cause ya girl done did you dirty.”

“Never that, dawg,” he says, soundin’ offended. “I’ma always have me a spot to lay my head. And she’ll be blowin’ up my ringer tryna get me to come back.”

“Whatever, nigga,” I say, grippin’ the steerin’ wheel wit’ my left hand, and leanin’ my right arm on the armrest. “Ya retarded-ass gonna be right back there gettin’ ya ass dragged for tryna fuck her over.”

“Maybe.”

I laugh harder. “Nigga, maybe my ass. Ya simple-ass will.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He pauses, thinkin’, I’m sure. Hell, I’m thinkin’ for his ass. I’m thinkin’, why the fuck is he so goddamn stupid? And when the fuck is he gonna stop doin’ dumb shit? I’m wonderin’, why the hell a bitch will fuck up all your shit, then say she blacked out and started wildin’? But when you look ’round the room, your shit is the only shit fucked up. Nuthin’ else is touched. How the hell you call ya’self blackin’ out and not tearin’ the whole house up? What a buncha bullshit!

I hit the button for the CD player. Go to disc four; track four. Wait for Erykah Badu’s “I Want You” to rip through the speakers, then spark a blunt. “Yo, nigga, ain’t no need sittin’ over there stressin’ ’bout shit you can’t do nuthin’ ’bout. It is what it is. Hell, you brought the shit on ya’self. So ain’t no need to be bitchin’ up. You might as well take a hit off some of this good shit, and let Erykah help ya get ya mind right.” I take two deep pulls, then pass the blunt to ’im.

He takes it to the head. “Yo, good lookin’ out. This is exactly what I needed.” We let silence in. Bob to the beats, passin’ the blunt back ’n forth. A haze of thick smoke starts to fill the car. I crack the back windows, and the sunroof. As much as I love to blaze, I hate the smell of that shit in my clothes. And by the time we get into the city, and I make a left onto Beach Street, we’ve burned two blunts and are feelin’ right. Then outta the blue, this muhfucka hits me wit’, “Yo, can I squat at ya spot for a few days?”

I cut my eye over at him, blowin’ smoke out. “What the fuck just happen to ‘I’ma always have me a spot to lay my head,’ nigga?”

He sighs. “Man, listen, both of my side pieces beefin’ with me, too.”

“And why can’t you stay at Lynn’s or ya other two sisters’ spots?”

“I can. But then I gotta hear them bitchin’ ’bout shit. I ain’t beat.”

I shift my focus back to the road, bearin’ onto West Broadway, shakin’ my head. “You’se a dumb muhfucka.”

“Yeah, whatever. So can I crash at ya spot or not?”

I glance back over at him, almost chokin’ on blunt smoke. This nigga and I are cool, but we ain’t that cool where I’ma let ’im rest at my crib. And on top of that, dude’s smashin’ three chicks and they all muthafuckin’ crazy. His ass is on foot now, thanks to one of them nut jobs bustin’ out all his windows and tossin’ red paint up on the hood of his 2008 Lexus. And another one of them hoes he’s fuckin’ was responsible for settin’ his apartment on fire. Yeah, he says it was an accident; that the curtains caught fire by a candle she knocked over. I’m like, “yeah whatever, nigga.” I know better. The bitch caught him in bed wit’ another ho and went Fire Marshall Bill on his ass. Fuck what ya heard. This muhfucka’s attached to too much damn drama for me. Besides, what the fuck I look like havin’ another muhfucka walkin’ ’round in his boxers, scratchin’ his nuts up in my shit? Not gonna happen.

“Hell no, muhfucka. Ya ass got too much shit goin’ on, word up. You betta stay right where you at ’til you can take ya ass back home.”

“Damn, that’s fucked up. I thought we were boys.”

Boys? This nigga done banged his damn head. “Fucked up, hell. I’m keepin’ shit real. And that’s why I’m not lettin’ your triflin’ ass rest at my spot, or bring drama up in my space, fuckin’ up our friendship. He looks at me kinda funny, but I don’t put too much energy into tryna figure out what the look’s for. ’Cause bottom line, I don’t give a fuck!

He sucks his teeth, sighin’. “Pass me the blunt, muhfucka.”

I take another pull, then hand it to ’im.

He takes a deep pull, holds the smoke in his lungs, then says, “That’s still fucked up, man.”

I make a left onto West Third Street. “Nah, nigga, what’s fucked up is you gettin’ ya shit housed and not havin’ a place to lay ya dumb-ass head.”

“Fuck you.”

I laugh. “Yeah, aiight, muhfucka. The only one bein’ fucked is you.” I drive ’round the block lookin’ for parkin’ while thinkin’, what a loser!