come for a smoke?”
At that moment, two drunk white guys
in suits stumble into us. They’re in their
twenties but don’t look like students. One
of them asks me: “Got any weed for sale,bro?”
He has crooked teeth and a patchy beard.
I’m not sure if he overheard what Lennie
was saying or if he just saw two black guys
with locs and jumped to conclusions.
I reply, “No, mate.”
His suit is light gray with a white shirt
and black tie. He turns to Lennie and
asks, “How about you,big man?”
The second guy, who had been quiet
until now, gets in my face. “You’re a liar!
I can smell it. How much?” He is clean
shaven and his breath smells of beer.
His suit is navy blue with a white shirt
and red tie; he reaches into his blazer
and pulls out two twenties and a fiver.
Lennie pushes Blue Suit away from me.
“Back up, man. My friend told you no.”
Lennie stares him down. “And I’m telling you
both to keep walking.”
Fight or flight?
Money still in his left hand, Blue Suit puts
his hands up in the air in surrender, says,
“Sorry,” first to Lennie, then to me: “Sorry.”
Gray Suit stands tall, smooths down
his black tie, and buttons up his blazer.
