could get low cost housing, he knew this because he had already fallen into that trap once before.
Juicy's mouth hung open. "Ooookay. Then why are you on the streets?"
Troy stood up. "Because, THIS," and he spread his arms to indicate her room, her home, her environment. "...makes me nervous. I can't live with all of these...CHAINS!"
A white lather had collected at the corner of Troy's mouth. His normally grey eyes were dark and intense.
Juicy nervously dumped the entire plate, including the silverware, into the garbage.
"Hey, Troy...you should calm down."
Troy inhaled and his shoulders slumped. "You don't have to worry about me, Juice. I would never hurt you."
She chuckled nervously. "I wasn't worried about that." Although that's exactly what she had been worried about. Troy made a humming noise then turned and walked into the living room.
"I gotta go."
He sat down on the couch and began pulling on filthy tube socks. Juicy's guilt flared. He didn't even have clean socks. She had a bag of tube socks. Tube socks were her preference when she had to stand on her feet for hours on end doing hair.
She sat down on the couch next to Troy.
"Throw those filthy socks away. I got a bag of tube socks—never worn. As a matter of fact, I'll wash your clothes. It won't take long. I promise."
Juicy got up with Troy staring after her. She went into her room and rummaged through one of her drawers for the unopened bag of socks. When she turned around Troy was standing behind her.
"Ahhh!" She screamed and almost dropped the socks.
Troy jumped too.
"You know," he finally said. "We make each other kinda nervous. I think I just want to go."
"Well take these socks." He nodded and took the socks. Then he went back out to the living room to put them on.
Juicy rummaged through another drawer until she came up with a bundle of bills. She needed to have spare cash around for when her clients came in needing change. She counted up fifty dollars. 'Is that all your life is worth, Juicy?' she asked herself. She added to that another fifty.
Troy was tossing the old socks into the trash. She thrust the folded bills at him and hoped that he wouldn't count them.
Troy almost took it before he realized that the folded bills were fairly large.
"Man, Juice. Are you crazy? I just thought that you'd give me two or three bucks because of the bus fare. I'm not going to take all of that."
"Troy, please take this money. It's the only way that I know where I can show my appreciation."
Troy shoved his hands into his pocket and looked around uncomfortably. "Juicy. I have to ask you a question."
His sudden nervousness made her apprehensive.
"What's wrong?"
"Are you...a prostitute?"
She gasped, and then she half laughed. "What?!"
"Well, are you?" Troy didn't find any humor in the question.
"No!" She crossed her arms protectively in front of her. She felt like she owed him...but not that!
"Are you a drug dealer then?"
Now she was getting offended. "Of course not. Do you think all black people are drug dealers and prostitutes?"
He shook his head. "But I think people that don't have a job and who have wads of money to give away might."
"What? I have a job."
"Well...you've been in a coma for three days. I understand that you don't have any people. But you didn't make any calls to anybody not even a boss-"
"Oh..." She released a tense breath. She wasn't mad anymore understanding where he was coming from. "Sweetheart, I am my own boss. I do hair for a living here in my backroom. I make a good living at it, too. So you need to take this money. Troy, I can make close to a thousand dollars in a day doing hair." If she put her mind to it she could do that or more. But in actuality she just didn't have enough regular clients to count on for steady money in that amount.
"Jeeeez! Are you serious?" His eyes were like huge saucers. "Hell, Juice, I need to become a hairdresser. You need an assistant?!" He joked.
Juicy relaxed. "What I need is a small
Juicy's mouth hung open. "Ooookay. Then why are you on the streets?"
Troy stood up. "Because, THIS," and he spread his arms to indicate her room, her home, her environment. "...makes me nervous. I can't live with all of these...CHAINS!"
A white lather had collected at the corner of Troy's mouth. His normally grey eyes were dark and intense.
Juicy nervously dumped the entire plate, including the silverware, into the garbage.
"Hey, Troy...you should calm down."
Troy inhaled and his shoulders slumped. "You don't have to worry about me, Juice. I would never hurt you."
She chuckled nervously. "I wasn't worried about that." Although that's exactly what she had been worried about. Troy made a humming noise then turned and walked into the living room.
"I gotta go."
He sat down on the couch and began pulling on filthy tube socks. Juicy's guilt flared. He didn't even have clean socks. She had a bag of tube socks. Tube socks were her preference when she had to stand on her feet for hours on end doing hair.
She sat down on the couch next to Troy.
"Throw those filthy socks away. I got a bag of tube socks—never worn. As a matter of fact, I'll wash your clothes. It won't take long. I promise."
Juicy got up with Troy staring after her. She went into her room and rummaged through one of her drawers for the unopened bag of socks. When she turned around Troy was standing behind her.
"Ahhh!" She screamed and almost dropped the socks.
Troy jumped too.
"You know," he finally said. "We make each other kinda nervous. I think I just want to go."
"Well take these socks." He nodded and took the socks. Then he went back out to the living room to put them on.
Juicy rummaged through another drawer until she came up with a bundle of bills. She needed to have spare cash around for when her clients came in needing change. She counted up fifty dollars. 'Is that all your life is worth, Juicy?' she asked herself. She added to that another fifty.
Troy was tossing the old socks into the trash. She thrust the folded bills at him and hoped that he wouldn't count them.
Troy almost took it before he realized that the folded bills were fairly large.
"Man, Juice. Are you crazy? I just thought that you'd give me two or three bucks because of the bus fare. I'm not going to take all of that."
"Troy, please take this money. It's the only way that I know where I can show my appreciation."
Troy shoved his hands into his pocket and looked around uncomfortably. "Juicy. I have to ask you a question."
His sudden nervousness made her apprehensive.
"What's wrong?"
"Are you...a prostitute?"
She gasped, and then she half laughed. "What?!"
"Well, are you?" Troy didn't find any humor in the question.
"No!" She crossed her arms protectively in front of her. She felt like she owed him...but not that!
"Are you a drug dealer then?"
Now she was getting offended. "Of course not. Do you think all black people are drug dealers and prostitutes?"
He shook his head. "But I think people that don't have a job and who have wads of money to give away might."
"What? I have a job."
"Well...you've been in a coma for three days. I understand that you don't have any people. But you didn't make any calls to anybody not even a boss-"
"Oh..." She released a tense breath. She wasn't mad anymore understanding where he was coming from. "Sweetheart, I am my own boss. I do hair for a living here in my backroom. I make a good living at it, too. So you need to take this money. Troy, I can make close to a thousand dollars in a day doing hair." If she put her mind to it she could do that or more. But in actuality she just didn't have enough regular clients to count on for steady money in that amount.
"Jeeeez! Are you serious?" His eyes were like huge saucers. "Hell, Juice, I need to become a hairdresser. You need an assistant?!" He joked.
Juicy relaxed. "What I need is a small
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