doin’? I wanted to—”
“Paint the wall?” the man interrupted with a stiff smile.
“Yeah.”
“We’re doing it a bit different tonight. Do you have a business card?”
“Not on me.”
“Okay, write your name down then on this piece of paper and we’ll put it in this fishbowl. The names will be drawn soon. Pun intended.” That shit was mad corny but I’m going to laugh anyway, just in case he has any say in the matter. King chuckled, trying to make it appear as if he were really titillated by the joke, then the guy ripped off a small yellow square Post-It note and handed him a pen. He quickly jotted his name down on the paper and handed it back to him.
“Good luck!” the man called out before turning away and looking at his phone.
“Thanks.”
King made a beeline towards the bar.
“What’s up, King Kong Killa of Manilla?” He spun around to look into Tyson’s dark tan face and deep set, opaque eyes. They immediately grabbed hands, wrapping their fingers around one another’s, formed a fist, then embraced.
“Hey, man. How are you?” King smiled so hard, his cheeks hurt.
“Good, man. Good. Shane’s crazy ass said you were over here. We saw Jeremy first, spoke to him a bit, and Jalal went to take a piss. He was holding it in the cab the whole time. Almost didn’t make it.” He chuckled. Tyson was a down-to-earth Puerto Rican cat with an infectious laugh and a smooth, cool demeanor. He was originally from Brooklyn, but he’d moved to Harlem to live with his grandmother when he was in the fourth grade. About five-foot-ten, he was charismatic down to his bones and had gone to a local college to get a degree, then married his high school sweetheart, Jalisa and had three children. He worked a decent nine to five as a phone company manager. In school, Tyson had been known for his singing abilities. He had a phenomenal voice, but unfortunately, it didn’t pay the bills.
The beat of Rhye’s ‘Taste’ drifted from the speakers. After a couple of minutes of small talk, Jalal joined them and after all the greeting and hand-slapping, the three ordered their drinks and returned to Shane and Jeremy, who were both laughing their heads off.
“I told him, man, I’m not taking any kind of advice from a guy without a fuckin’ forehead. His shit go from scalp to eyeballs, nothin’ in between. Got the nerve to be cocky when he got that Paul George forehead situation goin’ on. His shit is set adrift and imbalanced like a boat lost in the middle of the ocean, missing a sail in a storm. Fuck outta here wit’ his Neanderthal, Planet of the Apes lookin’ ass.” Jeremy burst out laughing so hard, it looked like he was going to choke and Jalal lost it, too. “And here’s King… this broke A.J. Styles lookin’ mothafucka we all love.”
Everyone but Jeremy laughed.
“Oh, come on, Shane. Don’t kick the man while he’s down,” Jeremy chastised.
“What you mean, man? I’m just fuckin’ with him. It’s all good. King is my boy!”
King smirked at him and shook his head.
“It’s fine, Jeremy. I’m used to Shane doing this shit. He’s broke, too, so that’s a lot of nerve. One thing he’ll never run out of is audacity.” They all laughed.
“Yeah, I’m broke, but you the type of broke that as soon as you walk into the room, all the lights go out and unpaid bills come raining down from the ceiling.” King shook his head while everyone succumbed to humor at his expense. “The only drawin’ you been doing lately is overdrawing on that bank account of yours. You better paint yo’ ass a paycheck ASAP, mothafucka. A, speaking of checks, check this out. Look, y’all,” He polished off the last of his drink and set it down.
“I told this Elvis-Presley-haired, pita-bread colored Osama Bin Laden lookin’ mothafucka,” Shane spoke over the laughter, competing with the volume of the music as he hitched his thumb in his direction, “to do some modeling. I’d hook him up with my agent. They still sometimes want old ass niggas like us. Well, old for modeling they say, you get what I’m saying.” They all nodded. “Especially in some advertisements. He’s been stalling on that. Then, I told King, okay, fuck it. Do an Only Fans page, wit’ his exotical lookin’ ass, right? Easy money! He already poses nude sometimes for those art classes ’nd shit.” Shane shrugged. “This time at least he’ll