Leroy shrugged. He couldn’t give a fuck about the postal service.
A waitress came over to their booth with a tray — three shots and three beers. Mitch downed his shot immediately, exhaling the burning heat before continuing his story. He looked at Tyrone. “And then she found the pants you lent me last night. That was a little more difficult to talk my way out of.”
“What’d you tell the bitch?” Tyrone asked.
“That I bought them at the mall the same day I got my nose pierced, but that I was gonna return them.” Mitch reached into the backpack he’d brought with him. He extracted Tyrone’s pants and threw them at him. “Thanks for the loan. Consider them returned.”
“Sho’ nuff,” thanked Tyrone. “Hey, whiteboi, what’s yo’ bitch’s problem with my fuckin’ fine ass threads?”
“She said she wouldn’t want to be seen in public with me if I was wearing pants like that. She said they were so saggy two people could’ve fit inside them.”
Tyrone leaned forward. “They make ’em saggy like that for a reason,” he drawled, “an’ you already fuckin’ know what it is.”
Mitch’s dicklet twitched.
There was short pause in conversation, but since they were discussing marriage, Mitch thought it was a good opportunity to inquire. “So, are either of you two married?”
It was a genuine question that came from an innocent place. The two thugs looked at each other across the table. There was a split second of ‘did he just ask what I thought he asked?’ disbelief before they burst into laughter. They high-fived at the hilarity of Mitch’s question.
The gulf between Mitch’s world and Harlem’s gritty streetlife had never been so stark. In Mitch’s world, a man aspired to a good education, a well-paid job, and if he was lucky, a beautiful wife. On the street, none of these things applied. Bros fucked hos, and the only education that mattered was learning how to hustle.
“Shit, whiteboi, that’s fucked up.” Tyrone wiped tears of laughter away from his eyes. “Whatever you’ been smokin’ today, I want some o’ that shit too.”
Leroy gestured across the table at Tyrone, arms flailing as he laughed. “I’m imaginin’ you dressed up in a tux,” Leroy whooped, “standin’ in a church, with one of them English pipe organs playin’ in the background, while the emcee say you gotta faithful to the skanky ho in the white dress standin’ next to you, like, for the rest of yo’ life, when you already know her bridesmaid is gonna suck a load outta yo’ dick the minute you leave the church.” His palm slapped the table as he laughed.
They nearly laughed themselves hoarse for about five minutes before Leroy struggled to pull the straightest face he possibly could. “In response to your inquiry, no, neither of us have ever been so fuckin’ stupid.”
Mitch’s shoulders slumped. “Hey, we jus’ messin’ with you,” said Tyrone. “We ain’t throwin’ shade at you, it’s jus’ … it’s jus’ I don’t ever wanna be tied down to no bitch.”
“Fuckin’ word,” Leroy agreed. Two heavy, black palms collided over the table. “Amen to that. Marriage is for weak men with small dicks.”
Mitch looked at Leroy, and his bottom lip trembled. Without a word, he picked up his backpack and left the bar. He stood in the alley on the next block and cried. Everything was a fucking mess.
Tyrone hissed at his homeboy. “Fuck, dude, what you gotta say somethin’ like that for?”
Leroy was apologetic, but to the wrong person. “Fuck, I know, I’m sorry. It just kinda slipped out.”
Neither of them knew what had happened between Mitch and his wife earlier in the day, but given his reaction, they assumed he’d be halfway to the subway by now.
“Wait here,” Leroy said. He stood and left the bar. It didn’t take long for him to find who he was looking for. He found Mitch crouched, sobbing, clearly in deep emotional pain, in the alley behind the bar.
“I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” Leroy offered. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Fuck off,” Mitch sniffled. “Leave me the fuck alone. I don’t want to talk to you right now.” He wondered whether he should go home, but he knew his apartment would be empty. There was no love or peace to be found at home tonight, and none in Harlem either.
Leroy moved closer. They heard the hum and bustle of the street around them. Mitch flinched. “Didn’t you hear me? Leave me the fuck alone!”
Leroy’s palms were upturned. “I jus’ wanna say I’m sorry …”
Mitch became defiant. “I don’t want no goddamn apology from you.”
Leroy bent down to gently touch Mitch’s shoulder. It was meant as a gesture of comfort.
“DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME RIGHT NOW!”
Leroy stepped back. “OK. I hear you.” He walked back into the bar, not sure what else to do.
Mitch sat in the gutter, doubled over in emotional agony. He cried for half an hour. Nobody else noticed him. Nobody else cared. Harlem was hard turf.
He cried himself thirsty. With red, puffy eyes, he walked back into the bar in search of a glass of water. Leroy immediately stood up to approach him.
“Didn’t you fucking hear me the first time?” Mitch screamed. All conversations in the bar ceased. “LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!”
Security moved, but Tyrone motioned for them to chill.
Leroy sat back down. “Hey, dude,” he said, “maybe we best leave.”
“OK,” his homeboy agreed. They settled their check and left.
Mitch stood at the bar with his glass of water in front of him, not sure where to go what to do. His wife’s panties wouldn’t get any airplay tonight. He felt uncomfortable; he knew people were staring at him. He summoned an uber and went home. As expected, his apartment was empty and lifeless. It felt like he didn’t belong here anymore. Or anywhere at all, really.
He sat on the couch, flipping channels.
Half an hour later, his phone vibrated.
Leroy: fuck dude im so sorry
Mitch didn’t reply. Minutes passed.
Leroy: i should’ve never have said that, it ain’t my place to judge
Mitch: fuck dude it’s been a difficult day and i haven’t even told you half of what happened, dude im a fkn wreck right now im at home and she’s not here and i feel so empty
Leroy: i feel you … sounds like you need a shoulder to cry on, bruh
Mitch: i think i need an entire body to cry on right now, but if you’re only offering a shoulder, it’s still better to cry on/in than vacant alleys
Leroy: i got a broad, strong shoulder for u
Mitch: …yeah so everything is shit right now
Leroy: i said something b4 about marriage is for weak men with small dicks. ok so we both know your dick ain’t big, but i ain’t never said nothing about the weakness of your character
Mitch: *sniffs* *looks up* go on
Leroy: you a brave mofo
Mitch: you ain’t heard half of today yet
Leroy: so get your ass back up here and tell us? we be waitin
Mitch: ok
He dried his eyes and caught an uber back to the bar. The thugs were waiting for him. He sat down next to Leroy, who smothered him in a hug.
“I’m tired of always trying to be the bigger person with her,” Mitch cried.
“That’s the thing wit’ us,” Tyrone flexed. “You ain’t ever gonna have to be the bigger person with us. And I’m not just talkin’ ’bout dick size.”
Leroy leaned in seductively. “Come back to Ty’s crib with us?”
“No handcuffs?” asked Mitch.