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Black Coffee by Tracey Price-Thompson
I look pretty lofty in my spit-shined boots and camoflauged battle dress uniform, but like most young sistahs from the 'hood I've taken a few wrong turns down the back alleys of life. I've tooted my share of reefers, popped the tab on many a cold brew, I've even dropped a tab of acid every now and then, but I must have been out of my mother-scrunching mind the moment I let crack-head Sonja Reed talk me into reaching for that twenty-dollar heart attack wrapped in tinfoil. "Damn Sandie!" Sonja swore and nudged me in the ribs with her pointy elbow. "Why you so uptight, gurlfren? Here," she passed me a tightly wrapped silver package. "Have a treat. It'll help your square ass fit in--you know, relax!" Sonja
and I were sitting at the vinyl-covered bar of the Sugah Shack,
a smoky blue-lighted hole-in-the-wall for the local indigents. Neon
strobe lights blinked intermittently from far corners of the room,
then ricocheted off a shiny silver ball dangling from the wood-beamed
ceiling. Outside, Jack Frost was duking it out with Jay Hawk, but
inside it was moist and warm, courtesy of the one hundred or so
of "us" crammed into the tiny joint.
I'd
just completed my semester final exams and decided to check out
the party scene, something I rarely had time for since enrolling
in night classes at City College. The house music pumped with a
thunderous beat, and although I'd accepted a few dance requests
and shaken my bones to a tune or two, I still flirted along the
fringes of the real action.
"C'mon,
chile," Sonja coaxed. She curled her tongue around the tip of a
white plastic straw as the metallic disco lights rearranged her
features into an erratic jigsaw puzzle. "Come on over here and get
your head right so you can relax!" Black Coffee:Part 1 | Black Coffee:Part 2| Black Coffee:Part 3 | Order BlackCoffee |
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