A Gambler's Prayer

So I have a secret. I can read minds. Don't believe me? Ask my kids. These are some random  thoughts I picked up at 4:47a.m. in a  casino outside Vicksburg, MS. Please forgive the language, I am just writing their thoughts.
“The lights on these machines dope. They just won't line up right. Shit I need to get my fucking money back! Shit I am only  playing this raggedy team play machine so one of you motherfuckers can trigger a fucking bonus have got to FUCKING WIN!
Jesus Christ Trisha is gonna fucking kill me if I have to call for money again!
Oh God please, God please! Fuck oh I'm so sorry Jesus. Oh Jesus please. I lost so much money on the crap table I am just trying to get enough gas to get home Lord and I am a little bit drunk, excuse me Jesus.
“Waitress, cuse me waitresses.“
Damn my voice sounds funny I been smoking that much?
Fuck yeah, Anit but bout 7 cigarettes in this bitch and shit didn't I buy this pack at the crap table where that evil cock sucking demon bitch took ALL my motherfucking money!
Goddamn it. I am going to lose my fucking wife!
I am gonna lose my whole family!
Oh God what have I done. Oh my father. Damn should I put the machine on auto? Will it  win that way? Should I keep pressing the button? I don't fucking know? Should I bet more? I gotta fucking win!
Can one of you jinxing motherfuckers trigger the fucking bonus! Oh for Christ sake how the fuck is that not a win?! Man this motherfucker is cheating me! The fuck I got left in this bitch? 62 motherfucking dollars!  It don't een make sense to cash out!
Shit, FUCK, the hell am I gonna do?
Oh my Jesus,  please help me? 
Lord I know that we ain’t been on the best of terms lately, father and I know that it's my fault. I have been really fucking up.  I know that I promised that I wouldn't stop at the fucking Goddamn casino, oh sorry sir. I am just, -Yeah FUCK yeah! That's what the fuck I'm talking about! Let's see what that is? $248 yes! Thank you Lord! Let's see. What the fuck the bonus still hasn't played?  Shit me, I am not leaving that much of my hard earned fucking money on the fucking table! I am just gonna spin the minanen, shit the mentimnen the  minimum, FUCK am I drunk?
DeShawn, nigga is you drunk and fucking broke?
Nigga you playing with Yo LIFE fool!
I know I know.
Oh God now I'm talking to myself! No what the fuck! I didn't mean to hit max fucking bet!
Shit! NOW I am down to back under a hundred!
What the fuck? 
What the fuck dumbass!
Oh God my chest hurts Jesus! Oh my God I had my Gas money and food AND a pack of fucking Newport!
You motherfucking asshole!
Oh my God Father that was a genuine accident Lord!
I really intended to leave as soon as I got my Gas money father and...I uh...I um.
What the fuck is this shit? Oh fuck! Okay a nigga got $500 in bonus points! Okay! If they ever run the motherfucker! And where the fuck is this waitress at? Oh shit  here she come pull Yo shit together cuzz! Ight.
“Yes can I get a uh Jack and coke on ice, hold the coke and the ice?”
That shit kill em every time.
And I delivered it so smooth shawty don't een know I'm Fucked up!
*[ Oh my God this bullshit again? I don't know why these drunk poor hustling ass niggas come in here from these country ass towns around this piece of shit town and think that they impressing somebody! Please I have class I am going to back to Vegas where the real money is! I guarantee that this bumpkin with his gold teeth, drunk ass, and smelling like Kentucky whiskey, weed, yesterday and a lil bit of Versace cologne, is only good for two crumpled dollars… and right again.
“I'll be right back with that sir.”
If there weren't so many cameras in here! I'd spit in his damn drink! Oh just get through the next six months and back to Vegas and leave these Bama’s the fuck ALONE! Get ya one's up girl! Keep mashing. ] (out of range)
* FUCK I got in my pocket? Shit $2 and a lighter.
“Here you go pretty. Shit soon as I win I ‘ma break you off.”
The fuck I say that country shit for? I don't need to impress this motherfucker. Shit she look stuck up any way. Fuck her, I need to get my fucking money back.
Ight minimum bet,  set to auto now somebody set off the bonus! Why the fuck this big bald HEAD ass nigga looking at me? I will shoot that nigga big ass, yeah, that's right get the fuck on fuckboy! Stop fucking staring bitch!
Oh Fuck that nigga turnt round like he heard that shit! Damn, you tripping that big ass monster anit read yo mind!
Straighten the fuck up! I wish he'd stop staring at me. Get the fuck on cuz you jinxing me!
I be done beat Yo big ass!
Oh shit Is that motherfucker looking at me again?
Oh fuck I just missed the fucking bonus, fuck! I need that fucking money!
I been gone for two weeks and done loss my whole pay check! I can't go home empty hand again!
*[ these were the waitresses thoughts it's difficult to read two people at once but I am pretty sure that I got it all.]
At that point I walked out of range. I can only read minds close by. I did see the dude cash out as I won at black Jack so I guess he got his gas money. I was a little busy reading the minds at my table.

Abuse is Abuse

Thunderheads and storm clouds gathered from every direction, massive, grey, full of menace, they descended upon the city without mercy like a prison rape gang. It was hard to picture a worse day for moving. However Hector "Macho" Morales and his wife Maria were helping his sister Lenore move.

Macho was angry, he kept hoping that his sister's no good husband would be stupid enough to show his face. Yeah, he would put a bullet in the fat lazy sob's face this time.  "Macho" had tried to tell his sister that the Moreno was no Bueno, but she was in love and wouldn't hear anything that anyone had to say about her husband.

She didn't care when Macho had shown her that her husband had a prison record, or that he had more baby mamas than he had revealed to her. In fact it had placed a strain on their sibling relationship the more information that he gathered.

If Macho was angry, then Maria was enraged, and her anger was being directed towards him. "Stupid! Don’t let the fucking mattress touch the pinche floor!"  "Idiota! You’re bumping the wall!" “I told you we should have eaten before we came over here. Why are you so stupid? All you have to do is listen to me.” Like he always did Macho simply ignored Maria’s tirade.

The U-Haul truck was almost completely loaded and despite the fat drops of rain that were baptizing the Bronx sidewalks, none of Lenore’s belongings had been damaged by the rain.

Macho was tired. He had worked a long shift at the factory before embarking on what he deemed as a rescue mission.  All he could hope was that this time it stuck. That maybe just maybe his sister would realize that Leon was no good and that any man that would beat you, regardless of how much he apologized and brought flowers or wrote poetry, was an abuser and couldn’t be trusted.

Truthfully, Macho didn’t hold out much hope that Lenore would stay away from Leon. She was whipped, and so enamored of the chubby African-American starving artist that Macho was convinced that Leon was going to literally kill her one day.

The rain had become a downpour. Water poured onto the cracked and pitted sidewalks in sheets that had to equal hundreds of gallons.

Everything was on the truck except for a sectional sofa. Macho, had been meticulous about how the items had been loaded in order to make room for the Mauve monstrosity. As he waited for the rain to slow enough to load the final piece he stood under the awning next door to Lenore’s apartment and lit a Newport.

His .9mm handgun rested beneath his Champion hoodie, and he tapped one Timberland boot to a rhythm that existed only inside his rain dampened head. Lenore and Maria were both on his already raw nerves and Macho just wanted the day to end.

“You really think that she’s gonna stay gone?” Damn, he really had not wanted his wife to find him. Macho just wanted a few moments of peace. He drew on his cigarette deeply before he responded. “Mama, I think that she’s my sister and that I’m gonna help her no matter how many times she runs back to his no good ass.”

Maria’s pretty features contorted as she replied. “Then you are as fucking stupid as she is. I’m getting on the train asshole. You and this bitch figure the rest of this shit out.”

Hector reached for his wife’s arm as she walked towards the train station. “Aye mami, hold up I thought we were going to the little seafood spot you like?”

“Fuck you machcito!” Maria cast the final insult over her shoulder without even looking back at him.

Angrier then ever Macho attacked the sofa as soon as the rain lessened. He couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. Lenore needed to understand that she was exhibiting classic abuse victim behavior and she needed to realize that she was better than, that.

“Hermana, usted no puede seguir permitiendo que este hombre le maltratan." The look on her face as he said the words gave Hector pause, as did her next query.

“Why not Hector?” Lenore’s shoulders had slumped and her older brother assumed that he knew the reason why, so he ran ahead with the conversation. He explained that no matter how much Leon apologized and tried to pretend that things would be different, soon he would be hitting her again, and if she wasn’t careful the man might kill her.

Lenore took in all of her big brothers words without making a sound. Until he finished. Then she asked him. “How is the way that he treats me different from the abuse that you accept from your wife?”

Macho, had nothing to say.

Saving the Stash

Hey just a little "flash fiction" to kick off the weekend. Hopefully you will find this to be a quick and enjoyable read.

The Super bowl was days away. Before he came to prison Prince hadn't gotten caught up in sports of any kind, however the degradation and deprivation that came from being incarcerated gave few outlets. Prince and two of his “brothers”, meaning two other “Vice Lords” had pilfered some buckets and were brewing up about 18 gallons of homemade whiskey.  The powerful bootleg alcohol known as “Buck” or “Hooch” was almost perfect. The plan was to sell the liquor by the cup during the game. Prince and his fellow Vice Lords had gotten the yeast, sugar and fruit from the prison kitchen. The trio had put a lot of time and effort into getting the stuff just right.

It wasn’t that Prince needed the money. His family had money and cared enough about him to make sure that he always had money on his “books”, No what Prince required and felt that this venture would give him was the respect of his fellow Imperial Insane Vice Lords.

Prince needed for the other members of the criminal organization to understand that just because he had finished High School and started to attend Meridian Community College that he was just like them. So what that he used good diction and proper grammar. He was Almighty. 

Prince, knew more of the Vice Lord literature than anyone that he was incarcerated with. By all rights he probably should have been the man in charge, but his baby face and his proper way of speaking precluded that. Despite the fact that the organization encouraged its members to pursue further education that by pursing his further education Prince was actualizing the dream that the founding fathers of his and every other “Organization” had fought for, in Mississippi people equated intelligence with weakness. Especially in the Mississippi Corrections Department.

This simple sale of buck was going to solidify Prince as part of the click. Forget the fact that unlike many of his fellow Lords, Prince was affiliated before he came to prison. Forget the fact that Prince was locked up for “Handling Nation business”, Prince still had to prove himself.  He had to prove himself because of his education and his light complexion.

Black people hate to admit it but lighter skinned black people are often seen as less black, and as a result feel the need to “Act blacker” then their peers and contemporaries.

The Buck was nearly perfect, it could be drank right now but the bubbles would probably cause the drinker to have severe gas. Another day and the concoction could be dunken smoothly without the excessive belching.
Prince, who had no nickname, and his brothers “Stutter” and “Tattoo” had been loosening the lids of their stash to breath the homebrew when a none affiliate saw them. Stutter who was naturally paranoid felt that they should move the hooch but Prince said. “Aye people, anit no nigga in they right mind bout to snitch on a Vice Lord!”
So the cache remained where it was.
Following the evening meal, the dormitory lookout spread the word that the C.O.’s were on their way and that they were ‘rolling deep’, meaning that there were a lot of them. The lookout announced that the officers, which he called “roaches” were “Locked, cocked and ready to rock”.
The dormitory became a sudden flurry of activity.  The call of “Them roaches crawling and they locked cocked and ready to rock!” meant that a shake down was imminent.

There was nothing that Prince could do. The buckets of Buck were too big to hide, there were too many of them and if the dormitory got caught with the contraband, there would be consequences.

Even if Prince owned up to being the one who made the liquor the entire prison would suffer. Prince’s goal of being accepted as one of the “bros” was fading, despite the fact that, Prince was legitimately one of the bros.
“What we gone do people?” Tattoo whispered to Prince. “I ont een know yet 5. Give me a minute I’ll think of sump thin.” The question from his bunkmate and friend was echoed by the Vice Lord leaders, left hand man “Slide”.
“Aye 5, big peoples wanna know what you gone do bout your hooch?”  Slide, was a greasy shifty character and not that smart, it was patently clear that “Uzi “ the leader of the Vice Lords kept him around for other less evident skills.
 Just the day before Slide had called it our Hooch.
Prince cast a glance towards Uzi. The Vice Lord general was talking to “Six Pack” and “Gee Whiz” the leaders of the Gangster Disciples, the Vice Lords enemies.  If he was parlaying with the opposition then the situation was serious. Prince had to do something.
“Give me a cigarette.” Prince directed Stutter who handed him one of his pre-rolled bugler cigarettes. Prince then stripped down to his boxers, and had just enough time to sit on the toilet with the lit cigarette as the goon squad hit the door yelling.
“You on the toilet can you pinch that turd off?”  The leader of the Correction Emergency Response Team or C.E.R.T. asked Prince.
“No sir boss, I anit feeling too good.” Prince responded. “I’m bed B-19 sir top bunk” Prince followed his pronouncement with a loud pained groan.
As the C.E.R.T. began their search Prince groaned loudly again and said, “I think I need some…” without finishing his sentence Prince pitched forward face first off the toilet his arm landed atop the cigarette he had been smoking and as his butt was in the air his bowels moved causing feces to stream out of his rectum in front of the entire dormitory. He remained still. The cigarette was burning a hole in his forearm. The booty bandits were looking all up in his butt. The officers were disgusted. Prince didn’t care.
As he was lead out of the dormitory on a stretcher, and the would be searchers made sure he was okay Prince Felt a distinct pride.
He had saved all the contraband and the dormitory. The way Uzi looked at him as they rolled him out and said “Aye People, get better. We’ll be here when you get back” told Prince everything he needed to know.

Letting Him Go

Last week I awoke to the theme from Dr. Who, my ringtone, it was my Dad telling me that one of my oldest friends had died.
He was the inspiration for Kevin's friend Tony and one of the main reasons why I have this Blog.

 RIP Troy Carter.

The sky was crowded with clouds baleful, the color of sadness, not fat but pregnant overdue in fact, threatening to give birth to a deluge at any moment.  Kevin had been on the front porch watching the skies. The impending flood felt fitting, not only because rain was a constant in the Mississippi River Basin,  but also because of how grief stricken he was.
Tony was gone. It didn't feel real.
The loss of his friend, one of his first friends, struck Kevin like the world had literally crashed into him.
Tony was gone. It didn't feel real.

 Kevin couldn't seem to get a grasp on the truth. He donned the black suit, crisply starched grey shirt with it's white collar and cuffs, he fastened the cufflinks and tied a perfect double Windsor knot. All in slow motion and without the need for thought.
Kevin, knew that he wasn't the worlds best friend .
Loving other people, had been a challenge all his life, and for most of the people in, his life, Kevin decided they were not worth the added effort.
Not so with Tony and Jay, they had been his friends since before Kevin's first bicycle. Tony, and his twin, had shown up to the Church his Father Kevin Jr. had in the family garage.
The man dropped his head, the feeling of hollowness threatened to engulf him.
Tony was gone. It didn't feel real.

The little quiet boy who somehow never was outshone by his verbose twin or by a much younger, but still persuasive Kevin.
The sink and vanity groaned as Kevin slumped and  his full weight leaned against it.
Tony was gone. It didn't feel real.
He was going to his funeral.
How the fuck did this happen? They had just spoke.
Tony and Jay were the only people to whom he reached out, even with them he let years pass.
Kevin always intended to talk more.

 He had never let Tony go they would always find each other.
The ride to the Funeral home just happened. None of the scenery registered.

 Even though every nook and cranny of his corner of Choctaw county Alabama had been explored, with Tony, all he saw were his memories. 
Kevin saw them, The Three musketeers, three Indian warriors, brimming with baby fat and imagination.

Himself Jay and Tony.

They had vanquished Dragons, and explored Mars, they had stolen watermelons, and shot their homemade bows.

 Tony had been the best shot of them all, and when they were 12 had proven it by putting two bullets in the same entry wound on an opossum.
The church was packed, and Kevin allowed himself a small smile. Tony deserved the attention. Mostly because, he had never sought it in life.

Tony had been content in the shadow cast by his boss until one day he took his tools and decided to work for himself.

 As with everything that the quiet man touched it had become a raving success. He wasn't just a welder, he was and artist whose medium just happened to be metal.
Kevin, sat beside Jay, Tony's twin. He knew that Jay was hurting and he rested one of his massive hands on his friend's shoulder.

Kevin, didn’t know Tony’s younger siblings well, but he didn't know his own that well either.
Kevin’s Father performed the service, and Kevin realized how proud he was to be the man's son.

His Father related a story about asking Tony 

 “If he was going to spend his life following my son?”

Tony, had told him that story, but had neglected to say that “The wise older dude” was Kevin Jr.
Tony was gone. It didn't feel real.

 He had been such an integral part of Kevin's day to day.  Kevin had been to all but two of the continuous States and had lived in Puerto Rico for two years, he had more stamps in his passport than he had ever known was possible, and the one thing that was consistent about every place he had been was, that he had spoken to Tony in every single one of those places.
The tears came of their own accord.

When he had held his extremely long and healthy son Kevin Delaney IV, he called Tony.
Tony was gone. It didn't feel real.
Kevin, didn't hear his name being called although his Father’s church was no longer in their garage, and had a state of the art sound system complete with CCTV on big screens, the technology didn't penetrate his grief.
Jay was beating his ribs.

“Aye bruh, go say sumptin nice bout my brother main.”
Kevin, got to his feet, he swore the pop of he knees had been heard throughout the building. Kevin Jr,  smiled at his son, at the man he had become.

The man coming towards him had gone through life the hard way, and made it through a diamond. Kevin Jr was aware that Tony had been part of the shaping and molding process that had made Kevin III into the man he was.
As his namesake made it to the podium, after having snatched away from the youth minister who had tried to assist him, The octogenarian preacher wrapped his much taller son in a bear hug.

The much larger Kevin spoke into his Father's ear.

“Daddy Tony is gone. What am I gonna do?”
Kevin Jr, leaned back still holding his 6ft 5in son's forearms, he looked into the light brown eyes, and saw the baby that fought for his life despite being premature and having low birth weight, the child who was hesitant to make friends, and the man that was his friend, and whispered.

“You are Kevin Delaney III man, you're strongest person I know. That boy was as good as gold, and he loved you. You is the only one that can send him to his peace. Gone let him go home. He always did follow you around to much. “
Kevin, stepped to the Mic and cast the youth minister a dirty look that kept him from approaching and adjusting the microphone.

 Kevin’s deep rumbling voice was able to be heard without the few added inches.
“Tony showed up at my house one night at bible study. He was at my house again the next morning, and again the next day…”

Kevin's deep baritone cracked and his Father made to rise, Kevin shook his head in the negative, before continuing;
“I didn't want to be friends. I didn't want no friends at all. He forced me into it. He wouldn't go away so I figured “since I'm stuck with ya.”
A light sprinkle of laughter spread through the audience.

 Jay, laughed loudest of all.

 “I have considered Tony and Jay my brothers all my life and I am going to miss him so much!” Kevin shook his head again and  looked skyward

 “Aye bruh it's me, stop hanging around here. You know we coming one day. Just gone get things set up and we'll be there.”

 He paused.

 “Not soon Main, but I will see you again.”
Tony was gone, and somehow suddenly it felt real.

The First Call-In

Harry had worked as a concierge in the Castle building for 32 years. In that triad of decades, the dependable gent had neither called off work nor been tardy.
Once in Harry's fourth year at 'The Castle' he'd almost been late; that had been the day Harry had wrecked his old Buick.
Even with the fender bender Harry clocked in at 6:58 a.m. two whole minutes prior to the beginning of his shift.
 Later that evening, after he left work, the emergency room doctors found that Harry had broken his clavicle.
The incident had become something of an urban legend amongst the less seasoned employees.
The stories newest incarnation claimed that Harry had been working with a broken leg for several days and finally passed out behind the wheel. Harry would neither confirm or deny.
The Castle buildings ultra-rich inhabitants loved Harry as if he were family. Many of the owners of the luxury condos children had grown up knowing the impeccably dressed gentleman.
New employees said that you could set your watch by Harry Farris, and you could. Harry walked into the building at exactly 6:45 each morning.
On Sept 5th, 2022, Harry did something he had never done before he grabbed his cell phone and he called in to his job.
 The manager was stunned. Even more surprising than the call itself, was what was said.
"Hello Mr. Jessup."
 Harry sounded calm.
 "I am not going to be able to make it into the building this morning. I have been involved in a fatal accident."
Randall Jessup, Harry's boss, the building manager, laughed.
He assumed that Harry had misspoke. Like the 12 previous managers that Harry had wound up having to train and or rescue, Mr. Jessup figured that he was much smarter than Harry.
"Don't be silly Harry. Fatal means dead."
"Sir I am aware what fatal means, and I used the proper term. I am not going to make it. I have 4 pieces of re-bar sticking out of my chest. I won't be coming back in, Mr. Jessup."
The 3.5 inch diameter metal rods had dislodged themselves, then slid off the truck in front of Harry, and slammed into his chest, driven deeper by the speed that both vehicles had been traveling.
Blood leaked from Harry's mouth as he  continued to speak to his supervisor.
The bars that had pierced him hadn't even shattered his windshield, they appeared to have blended with the glass somehow.
"I apologize for any inconvenience I'm causing sir, It has been my unique pleasure to serve."
The line remained open, the sound of Harry's breathing ceased, and the only thing Randall could hear in his headset was sirens, and car horns.

Inspiration

I have seen some stunning rags to riches stories in my life. I have seen some well deserved and talented people who NEVER made it. I have seen the rise and fall of Giants. I talk to much. Here's...

Inspiration
Donavan Deshawn Dawson, aka Dj 3D, had been in the music game a long time.
When the world was screaming for BASS, Don, had  given it to them.
In those days, he’d turned out parties and shows. At the height of his career, Donovan had put out some unremarkable records, which had garnered him a humble following. His pronunciation, delivery, and simple but meaningful raps, held no place in the Miami Bass scene, so he dumbed down his verses and concentrated on the production side of the business.
The Miami Bass era died.
Which forced the young Dj 3D to change his style. He was talented, gifted in fact, the hard truth was that he didn't know the right people. All of the talent in the world doesn't mean anything, if you don't know who to show it to.
Donavan, did what he had to do. That meant finishing college, where he met his wife, and life happened. Divorce and child support cases, and the early 2000's swiftly changing music scene limited the now 30 plus Dj’s involvement in music to playing night clubs.
While he still introduced himself as a music producer, even Don realized the futility of chasing the dream at this point. At forty Donovan met a woman, who’s, brand of insanity matched his own and the two of them decided to build a life.
Donovan went to work daily, his postal service job providing the American Dream. He also played some private parties and from time to time one of the 30 and older clubs around the city.
Don‘s common law wife Latisha, had brought a ready-made family with her. The oldest was a nineteen year old son, a big brute of a young man, as lazy and shiftless as he was large. 
The younger man’s love of hip-hop music was the only thing that he and Don had in common.
Like many formerly, single mothers, Latisha wanted her son, a wannabe mumble rapper, to learn from the man in her life. Rightfully, She expected Don to assume the role of father.
Unfortunately, the younger and older men were not each other's biggest fans.
The two Alpha males had met too late in life.
Don, however loved Latisha enough to make an attempt.
Normally, Don enjoyed taking vacation days, today there was no fun to be had. He had taken some PTO, in order to introduce his college drop-out step-son to the world of work.
Donovan’s, Silver F350 was without a doubt the nicest vehicle in the parking lot of Ready Labor a temporary agency that provided same day work, and same day pay.
Don’s plan was to take his step-son there, and teach him the struggles that non-college educated, people often experienced.
The hope was that a couple days of the backbreaking manual labor would encourage, Terrance, his step-son, to return to college.
Don prayed that it was over quickly, his age was starting to catch up to him, and he was dreading the hard day.
Donovan and Terrance scarfed down breakfast sandwiches, as they waited to be assigned to some sort of work.
The room was fairly quiet.
Filled with men and a few women who had been broken by life, or were new to the area.
The agency was the type of place that would employ anyone, and the drug addicts, alcoholics, and ne’er-do-wells around the city knew it.
Suddenly the entire climate of the room changed.
Memphis Mike, an outspoken security guard that Don knew from the club scene walked in.
Memphis was the type of person who was larger than life, his voice was big, and his accent bounced from every corner of the temp agency’s waiting room walls.
“Dj 3D, aye main what’s good? Fuck you doing up in this motherfucker?”
Donovan, gave a quick explanation of what he was attempting to accomplish with Terrance.
Once the conversational ball was tossed back into Memphis’ court he took it and ran with it, much to Terrance’s delight.
Not only was the man’s accent pleasant Memphis had a way with words that caused most of the occupants of the office to smile if not outright laugh.
“Aye Main, you know why I Work over ear Main? Shit, I be done tricked the fuck off with these thick ass hoes main. You know I like my broads thicker cold grits main, shit thick than a $7 pork chop ya feel me?”
Terrance’s entire body shook with laughter.
Knowing, that he had an audience encouraged the gregarious bouncer, and he describe the type of women that he liked in ever more colorful terms.
“Half a happy meal away from fat.” “Thicker then government peanut butter” Memphis described his fascination with stretch marks, and how a “lil cottage cheese anit never hurt nobody”. Terrance sucked up every word.
Approximately an hour into the men’s wait time the desk clerk called Donovan and his son to the desk to send them out on assignment.
The pair wound up unloading an 18 wheeler filled with mattresses, the entire time Terrance, hummed and muttered to himself.
Donovan, figured that he was upset about the hard work and ignored him, confident that his plan was working.
Lunch time revealed what had really been going on inside the teenager’s mind. Terrance asked for his step-father’s expertise. “Aye Donovan, can you help me make a song?”
“Thicka then Grits” became a number one song and launched Terrance aka
xtra-Terrance-s-til 's career, it made 3D a sought after producer.
The re-mix featured Migos Drake, and Memphis Mike, just saying the hook.
"Main I like my gals thick, thicker than cold grits or a  $7 poke chop, you know that thick as shit"
All because of a morning at the temp agency and a little bit of Inspiration.