'close the door behind you' my supervisor says without looking away from reading his favorite sport sections of day. 'sit, please', he tells me. now...i feel my armpits sweating. he says this to me in same manner as my papa used to say longtime ago. except, my supervisor has more hair on his face and arms than on his head. i stand in front of desk for a while waiting for him to finish his phone call and circle win-lose column of teams he likes. i dont know what he want from me but i know what. She burst through the door, pulling me in. Trey smiled at me lazily from his chair, and I could smell the weed he’d been burning. Olivia looked at me. ‘You smoke?’ ‘Sometimes,’ I said, ‘but I have a long way to drive tonight, so I probably shouldn’t.’ She laughed and pushed me into a threadbare chair. ‘You got time, Papi. You gonna spend a few hours with me in my home.’ She packed some weed into a Swisher Sweet wrapper, lit it, took a drag and handed it to me. I inhaled carefully but it went. More

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