Clipped

Chillin' Out

I took another sip from the 40 and wiped off my mouth with my free hand. I was loosely holding the bottle around its neck, letting it dangle between my legs. Elbows resting on my knees, I glanced at the concrete stoop I was sitting on, and then looked up and surveyed the block.

Looking left, I saw a cop car, siren off, lights rotating around, bathing the night in alternating hues of red and blue. I squinted to make out what was going on, but whoever the pig was arresting was shielded by the car. Another sip as my gaze scanned left to right, washing across boarded up houses and graffitied buildings. I came to rest on Jay, who was standing to my right, leaning against the thick concrete railing.

“Damn, kid. I wonder wa’s goin’ on?”

I nodded towards the cop car. He shook his head ruefully.

“Same ol’, same ol’. You know the dil.”

“C’mon, dawg. It’s gotta be some shit this time.”

“You’s a fuckin’ head case, son. It ain’t never some shit ‘cept bein’ black. Get it straight. He just fuckin’ power trippin’, ‘s all.”

“Whatevs.” Another sip. I swished around the backwash at the bottom. I started to get up. “Ima check this shit out.”

His protests were half-hearted.

“Hell nah. Where you goin’? Aw shit… Here we go again.”