Tiny is short - only about 5’5 or 5’6. He has a tendency to wear baggy clothing that carries the distinct odor of cigars and weed. He smokes blunts all day long. His tongue is pierced and his arms are covered in tattoos that reveal details of another chapter in his life. He is quiet spoken, not given to the usual braggadocio of male bravado. He keeps to himself.
I suppose it is the tongue ring that causes his words to come out sounding full of spit. Even without the self-inflicted speech impediment I would say he was quiet. Most times he doesn’t respond verbally when the answer is affirmative; he simply grunts a slow and drawn out “mm hmm” in agreement. He's also slow to speak when it comes to the ladies.
His fingernails are dangerously long and sharp. When he's been smoking a lot, he has the tendency to snort his nose in that way that makes you want to hand him a tissue so he can blow whatever is in there out.
He loves to get drunk. He is the only person I know that can spend hours and hours at the club and doesn't want to leave until the club is closing. His mission here on earth is to live the easiest and have the most fun.
I used to see him walking through the buildings at work. He was part of the Facilities team. In his gray and black uniform he blended in with the scenery. I became accustomed to him delivering supplies to my office, bringing me mail packages and making repairs in the building. We never said more than two words to each other. A nod here or a wave there were our only interactions. I’d see him talking with other guys that worked with me from time to time. For the most part he seemed low-key and quiet.
I had to call on him one day when the copy machine ran out of toner. He came and stood in front of my desk and I caught a whiff of something familiar. I looked at him and raised my eyebrows.
“What?”
It came out almost garbled. His mouth was full again, probably because of the barbell.
I shook my head and reached in my purse. I handed him the Parfums du Coer version of CK1.
“Use that. You stink.”
He looked as if he wasn't sure how to take that. "What do you mean I stink?"
"You stink."
He still looked puzzled.
“Uh, you don’t have a blunt recovery kit?”
“A what?”
“A blunt recovery kit.”
“What’s that?”
I laughed. “You do know what a blunt is right?”
He grinned. “Yeah, I do.”
“And you do know you are at work, right?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“So why are you standing at my desk smelling like you just put the weed out?”
He laughed and sprayed the cologne. “You smoke?”
“Obviously. How else would I know what you smell like?”
“I don't know. Maybe you know somebody that smokes.”
“You smoke during work hours?”
“I smoke all the time. On the way to work, on my lunch break and on the way home.”
“Dayum, that’s a lot of smoke during the day.”
“A nigga needs it to get through the day.”
I chuckled. "I guess."
“Whatchu be doin’ after work?”
“Nothing. Going home. Why?”
“Where you stay at?”
“Northeast part of town. Off of Nellis.”
“Me too.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. If you give me a ride home today I’ll get you high. I got some chronic.”
“I never turn down chronic. You got a ride.”
“Cool. You get off at 5?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll wait for you in the parking lot.”
At five he was waiting in the parking lot by my car. We hopped in and I headed towards the freeway. He produced a fat blunt and lit it. The first hit sent me into a 40-second choking spell.
“Damn, that is some good shit.”
“I got it like this all the time.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. My peoples. We got the hook up.”
“I might need to holler at you then.”
“If you can let me ride with you to work, I’ll give you gas money and get you high everyday.”
I thought about it. “Okay, I can do that.”
“Cool.”
He directed me to the apartment complex where he lived. It was a seedy looking place. Garbage took up as much space as cars in the lot. Dirty children and toddlers in diapers played in an oily pile of dirt near the cinderblock retaining wall. Broken down cars and shells of broken down cars were lined up in groups, representing half-finished fix-up jobs. Groups of people were hanging outside in clusters. They all looked up suspiciously when I pulled into the driveway. I saw several people rest their hands reassuringly on their hips and waistbands. Tiny rolled his window down and stuck his head out. The masses seemed to relax upon seeing a familiar face.
He pointed at his apartment. There was a group of ten guys standing outside of it. They were all staring at me and the car as he got out.
“Ay so you gonna pick me up in the morning?”
“Yeah. I’ll be here by 7:15.”
“Alright. I’ll be ready.”
I made the three-point turn so I could leave the complex. The men on the stoop were still staring at me. Tiny walked up and joined them. The biggest in the group handed him a blunt. He took it and saluted me with it as I started to pull off.
“Your friend don’t want to smoke with us Tiny?” The big one asked this loud enough for me to hear, but I pretended that I didn’t.
The next morning when I went to pick Tiny up, I was officially introduced to the spot.
lol...great story monique...i love your writing...
is this a TRUE STORY??????