Page 65 of Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

“Ho, I heard that. You actually think I’m tryna fuck wit’ a nigga who has hoes tryna get at me on some dumb shit? When you know me to be fightin’ a bitch ova some dick?”

She shakes ’er head. “I haven’t.”

“Exaaactly. And I’m tryna keep it like that.”

“I hear you. So how da fuck da bitch connect you to AllStar?” I tell ’er how she came up on ’im at the club, grindin’ ’er pussy all up on the back of ’im; how they went at it, and I walked off. “Mmmph. So, what’s up now, you axin’ da nigga?”

“Shit, after this, I need to.” I take another hit off the blunt, then pass it back to ’er. I pull out my cell as soon as it starts to ring. “Hol’ up…speakin’ of da nigga, this’s ’im now. Wassup?”

“Yo, what da fuck happened? All I heard was a buncha screamin’ ’n scufflin’ ’n shit, then ya phone went dead. Then, when I tried callin’ you back, it kept goin’ into ya voicemail.”

“What happened was ya bitch—”

“Yo, that’s not my bitch, so stop sayin’ that shit.”

“Whateva. I don’t give a fuck who she was to you. All I know is da bitch stepped to me tryin’ it on my time, poppin’ a buncha shit and I cracked ’er muthafuckin’ nose open.”

“How da fuck she know who you was?”

“From da club.”

“Da club? From last week?”

I suck my teeth, feelin’ myself gettin’ aggravated wit’ this nigga. “Yeah, muhfucka, what otha club were we eva at together?”

“Yo, why you snappin’ on me?”

“Muhfucka, let me tell you sumthin’. I’m not wit’ bitches comin’ at me ’bout no muthafuckin’ nigga; especially one I ain’t fuckin’ on a regular, okay? And, right now, that whole situation gotta bitch real hot.”

“I feel you. But you actin’ like I caused da shit. I haven’t fucked wit’ that crazy bitch or seen ’er in over a year.”

“Whateva. All I know, I betta not catch that bitch again.”

“Yo, listen, fuck that bird. You aiight?”

“Yeah, I’m good, nigga. A bitch like me is gonna always be aiight. All that lil’ shit did is get my pussy wet.”

“Oh, word? You want me to come through and handle that for you?”

“Unless you comin’ through wit’ that bitch’s address, no thank you.”

“Damn, you’d rather have that crazy ho’s address instead of gettin’ a dose’a Daddy’s dick?”

“Nigga, fuck all that daddy shit. I want that bitch’s address.”

He lowers his voice. “And Daddy want some more’a that juicy pussy.”

“Nigga, get real. You ain’t my fuckin’ daddy.” Chanel cuts ’er eyes ova at me. I ig the ho.

“Yeah, aiight. Not yet.”

“Not eva, muhfucka.”

He laughs. “Yo, I can tell you fired up. And I ain’t tryna beef wit’ you, ma. I’m gettin’ ready to scoop my moms up and take ’er out to eat, so I’m hit you up later.”

“Bye, nigga. Have fun,” I tell ’em, takin’ the blunt from Chanel. I take two long pulls, then toss it outta the window. “And I still want that ho’s address.”

He laughs, but I?

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