Eviction Notice by K'wan

year had passed, she had been living from pillar to post, and school seemed a lifetime away. Porsha was at a low point … a point at which the average young woman may have given up and slipped further into oblivion, but Porsha wasn’t quite ready to lie down and die. She could’ve gone home and begged for her parents’ forgiveness, but pride wouldn’t let her, so Porsha searched for her own way.
    Porsha was still as intelligent as ever, but she had been out of the loop so long that she had to crawl before she could walk, so she enrolled herself in a community college. Next, she managed to find a place to lay her head when a friend of a friend was looking for a roommate to share her apartment and bills with. It could be stressful at times with several women in one apartment, but Porsha made the best of it. She tried to find a job, but with the twisted economy and no degree, all she was offered were minimum-wage positions, and her high-end tastes wouldn’t allow that, so she turned to other ways to make money, capitalizing on the only real asset she had left, her looks.
    “Porsha-boo,” someone called, snapping her out of her daze. When she turned around and saw Scar peering at her from the end of the aisle, her mood instantly darkened. Scar was a local knucklehead who was always into something. He was a drug dealer by trade, a pain in the ass by nature, and a natural magnet for trouble, which a teenager named Jay who worked for him had to find out the hard way. Someone Scar had run afoul of tried to kill him, and they ended up hitting the boy by accident. Not only did Scar skip the funeral, but he didn’t even offer Jay’s mother so much as a crumb to bury her son, when it had been his fault the boy was killed. Scar was a bastard and the whole hood either feared him or hated him.
    “Hey,” she said dryly and continued pushing her cart down the aisle.
    “What you got up in there?” Scar caught up to her and snatched a box of rice from the cart. “Let me find out you’re cooking us a romantic dinner tonight.” He smirked.
    “I ain’t cooking us shit.” She snatched the rice back and kept going.
    “I was just joking, Porsha, don’t act like that with me,” he said, softening his approach.
    “That’s your problem, you’re always playing and never serious about anything.”
    “I know one thing that I am serious about.” Scar touched her arm lightly.
    “Whatever, nigga. Dick that has run up in Boots will never run up in me.” Porsha rolled her eyes and kept pushing.
    Scar was stunned for a second, but quickly rebounded. “Boots? You shouldn’t go believing everything you hear, ma.” He fell in step with her.
    “It ain’t about hearing, it’s about seeing, because it ain’t like y’all got the common decency to put no shade on it. Everybody in the hood except Bernie knows you and his baby mama are fucking, among other things. Now please leave me to finish this shopping so I can get outta here.”
    “Why don’t you let me pay for those groceries for you, ma. Porsha, I know you ain’t no hood bitch, so it takes a nigga who can take care of you to even step to you,” he said, pulling out a knot of money, spreading the bills so she could see that he was holding.
    Porsha looked down at the money and the look on her face said that she wasn’t impressed. “Scar, sometimes it ain’t about money, it’s about class, and right now you’re a little short on it, boo. It ain’t nothing personal, I just don’t feel you like that,” she said frankly.
    Scar’s face melted. “Word?” He shook his head sadly. “All y’all broads is the same. When you first move around you act like your pussy is wetter than the next bitch, but before long you all ask me to be the judge,” he said smugly.
    Porsha wanted to snap, but she kept her cool and only the half smirk on her face said that she was fazed by the comment at all. “Scar, I almost went there with you, but I know you be on your ignorant shit so