Moe Tobacco

Who doesn’t enjoy American poverty?

It’s ‘bout a good 11AM as I step outside my front door. My bare copper colored feet feeling every bit of the summer heat from the concrete porch. My joggers slightly sag, displaying the brand name of the boxers I’m wearing. The wife-beater tank top I sport allows the tattoos on both my arms to shine. With my left hand, I rub my nappy goatee before touching my equally nappy Afro to make sure it’s all still there. As my senses become fully online, my eyes start to match visuals with the beautiful cacophony transpiring.

Next door, a mature woman is on the phone gossiping about God knows what, with God knows who. Two hustlers are leaning against a car across the street conversing in a colluding manner. A few houses over an older guy sweats a tsunami while cutting grass and sipping a beer time to time. The birds are chirping, of course. Farther down, some teenagers yell at a speeding car that interrupted their basketball game in the middle of street. Most definitely a busy day.

“Yo, Cell! What’s good man?”, said the approaching white guy with a female, both dressed like modern hippies.

It’s Price, he’s one of the poor whites that lives in this diverse but mostly black neighborhood. I’ve known him since middle school, he’s cool.

“What’s happening?” I respond.

Price plants his right foot on the bottom step of my porch, his lady friend is right behind him.

“Same old, same old,

“Hey, I need a huge favor big dog.” He expressed.

Before I get a chance to reply, I can’t help but notice the young woman just staring all in my face. It was awkward but I ignored it.

“Man shit,

“I just woke up, call me in like a hour or something.”

“That’s the thing, my fucking phone is destroyed. Here, take a look.” Price passes me the battered phone to examine. “I got about 50 bucks on me. You think you can fix it by tonight?”

I take a few seconds to look at the phone, even though my answer was already determined.

“Nah,” I passed the junk phone right back to him then retrieved a cigarette from my pocket, “Let me see a lighter.”

The female quietly lends me a tye-dye lighter.

“Come on dude, don’t be like that. I really need this piece of crap fixed. We’re going to a bonfire way out in the county later.”

I took a relieving puff and returned the lighter to the mute woman.

“Oh ok, that’s what’s up,

“Still, no. What I look like, Handy Manny? Take it to the Arabs ‘round the corner, they’ll fix it.”

“Bro, what? They’re gonna charge me every bit of $200.” he said,

“Exactly.” I agreed.

Price’s feminine companion decided to aid his request.

“Umm, if it’ll help, I have about $40 on my debit card to spare.” she spoke softly,

“Thank you.” Price told her, “See, that’s 90 bucks Cell, stop tryna’ finesse. Hook your brother up.”

He extended his arm for a handshake, which I denied.

“No offense, my parents ain’t white. If they was, I ain’t got no family discount policy anyway, right on but I’m cool.”

My rejection wasn’t translating with Price’s desperation. The cheap offer wasn’t even a gripe, I just didn’t feel like doing anything.

“Dude, seriously? What type of businessman are you? Do you not like money?” he questioned.

His begging started to piss me off, I hate when people beg.

Specifically, if they’re begging me.

“No. I don’t like entitled white boys asking me to do something I don’t wanna do. Get the fuck from ‘round me, shake.” I demanded.

“Wow. It’s like that?”

“Yea, it’s like that. Shake, before I get mad for real.”

“Bro, I’m just-“

“Come on Price, let’s go. Obviously, he’s not gonna change his mind.” the lady friend cut him off, prompting them to leave.

The pair started to walk off. Price looked like a sad puppy, he must’ve really expected that I was going to say yes, so foolish of him. Regardless, he still was a friend to a certain degree so I did the cliché thing to do.

“Man, bring it here!”

He turned around, looking as if he needed confirmation to re-approach. I waved him to come back and he jogged to relinquish the device.

“My guy! Good looking out.” he said while giving me the phone again plus the $50.

“Yea, yea, yea. Make sure y’all go to an ATM and snatch the rest of that money.” I ordered,

“Bring it with you when you come to pick the phone up.”

“Alright, bet. What time?” he asked.

“Give me ‘til like 4 or 5. If I’m gone, it’s gone be in the mail box, slide the paper in there.”

“Ok, got you. Thanks again, I really appreciate-“

“Mhmm. It’s all good.” I cut him off.

He shook my hand and left jogging back to his friend in his baggy attire, I slid back in the house.

I entered my cluttered room, nearly tripping over a shoe, tossed the phone on my bed and went digging through parts. I had later plans of my own, I wanted to fix this thing and get it over with. After a few minutes, I found all that I needed to repair Price’s phone. For stimulation, I turned some rap tunes low and started to work. Not even 30 seconds later, a knock on my bedroom door.

“Ramone!” it’s my niece, Asia, calling me by government.

She waltzed right on in, like privacy doesn’t exist. She’s actually 2 years older than me, so I’m more of like a little brother/cousin than an uncle to her.

“What you want?” I ask frustratedly.

Asia doesn’t say anything for a moment. She looks around my room trying to observe whatever it is. I make a puzzled face, signaling her to speak.

“Who were those dope fiends on the front porch?”

“Dope fiends?” I’m confused, “Price? He ain’t no damn dope fiend, stoner for sure. I don’t know about his lil’ girlfriend, why?”

“You selling them drugs?” she asks.

“What? Bye, stop asking me stupid shit.”

“I seen him give you some money. What was it, weed?” she asks another stupid question.

“Are you blind or just dumb? I guess you don’t see all these tools to fix a phone.” I said sarcastically.

For some strange reason my nosy niece is convinced I’m doing something illegal.

“That could be for someone else. You know my dad’ll kick you out if he finds out you’re dealing.” Asia claimed.

Her “dad” she’s referring to is my “dad’s” oldest son, Felix.

“No he wouldn’t. That pothead, Felix always getting fried. I bet he probably at work high as we speak.” I joked.

“I’m just saying, a 22 year old got killed last night over there on Grand. The news said it was a botched drug deal or something, I don’t like seeing that type of stuff.”

“Stop watching the news then.” I told her, “That ain’t got nothing to do with me. Leave and shut the door behind you.”

“Yea, ok.”

Once she exited, I got right back to work. It took little over an hour to fix Price’s phone, he just needed a new screen. The constant tasking had built me up an appetite. I took a trip to the kitchen but nothing was even remotely appealing. Cereal? No. Pancakes on a stick? Ew. Bologna? I’ll be damned. I could’ve whipped up something a lil’ more elaborate, I didn’t. Instead, I kicked on my Nike flops and departed, headed to the Arab store.

On the way, I greeted familiar faces of the neighborhood. Once I made it to the main street, there was a high speed chase going on. A couple big slow police Suburbans chasing a dark tinted Dodge Charger. I’m almost positive the driver escaped, unless he crashed later. Besides that, there was all the other stereotypical elements of an urban environment, no need to expound. I made it to the store, spoke respectful trash to the cashier, ordered a 6 piece chicken and cheese fries plate, waited 10 minutes, left.

Walking back home, I travel slowly to eat, discarding chicken bones along the way. Upon arrival, I meet Price relaxing on my porch, this time he’s alone.

“Yo! You’re right on time, I’m hungry as hell. Break me off a wing, would ya’?” he says,

I offer him the remainders as I walk by to stand on the porch.

“Hmm. It’s some fries left, you can have them. Shit nasty anyway.”

“Righteous!”

“Didn’t I say I’ll be done between 4 or 5? Why you here?” I wondered.

He takes a second to reply due to him devouring the food I gave him.

“Hold on,” Price chews, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“I’m listening.”

He’s still stuffing his mouth like a Neanderthal.

“Are you busy later? After you finish the phone?”

“It’s already finish, what’s up?”

“No kidding?” he looks up from the plate.

“Yea, what’s up?”

He finishes the food, sits it to the side, then stood to face me.

“You remember the chick I was with earlier?”

“What about her?” I question.

“Well, she’s like really into all the spirituality stuff right. Crystals, sage, astrology, palm-reading, that type of stuff.”

“Ok, cool.” I said.

“I guess she read your aura or energy field, or something, I forget. When we left, she pitched the idea that we should invite you to the bonfire. You know, get you out the house, introduce you to new people. It’s gonna be plenty of other chicks, weed, drinks, really just good vibes.”

The invitation was flattering but I had plans to go to the casino and hopefully win some cash.

“That’s love, I gotta pass though. Got some other lil’ shit to get into tonight, going to the boat.”

“You’re refusing a good time to gamble?” he asks.

Since my 21st birthday, I’ve gone to the casino at least twice a week. It’s kind of the only place I travel to outside the neighborhood besides meeting people to repair their phone. I’m not a gambling addict or anything like that, I get in and get out. I learned to count cards on an Internet forum so I just go play blackjack until I make a good profit. Once I get to anywhere from $100 to $500, I leave to not raise any red flags. Somedays I come out with absolutely nothing but that’s not very often.

“Hell yeah. I rather go make some money, I ain’t tryna’ be out of place with a bunch of white new age spiritualists. Talking bout, ‘the universe is inside you’, y’all might to try brainwash me or some shit.”

Price laughed,

“Oh dude, stop being simple. There’s gonna be other black people there too. It’s 2023, the color line has been crossed and hardly even exists anymore.”

“Yea I hear you, that shit sound fishy though. Sound like a Jordan Peele movie waiting to happen. Why your girlfriend want me to come? That’s weird.” I told him.

“Kaylee‘s not my girlfriend and she’s just cool like that. She sees the good in people like beyond your whole ‘serious black guy who don’t take no mess’ persona. You’re way too young to be so misanthropic. At least wait ‘til 40 to start hating everyone.”

My white comrade had my mentality mistaken, I corrected him.

“I don’t hate nobody, I just see y’all for what y’all really is,

“I see all the lies humans tell themselves because I do the same thing. Everybody wants to be right about nonsense, wanna have the answer to shit that wasn’t even a question. Religion, politics, economics, morality, science, whatever the fuck. It’s all western hypocrisy to me.”

Price gave a shocked look.

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Dead-ass.” I confirmed

“Dude, dude, we need you at the bonfire tonight. That’s literally all we speak about- ‘bout how fucked up the government is, bullshit classism in society, the fiat dollar. I mean, we divulge on a little more as well, but yea those are like the starting points.”

He didn’t even have to tell me, I knew what type of group they were. Price was always reiterating “woke” phrases when we would talk. I could see why me having similar thoughts would be surprising, we’d never really get deep in conversation on that level. Plus, I kept a lot of my deeper thoughts internal.

“Yeah bro, I’m hip to all that. High frequencies, low frequencies. Higher self, lower self. Chakras, meditation, kundalini energy, third eye, you name it.”

He looked shocked again.

“Where’ve you been hiding this knowledge? I’ve known you 10 years, you never spoke like this before. I thought you were just good with technology, didn’t know your eyes were open. Cancel that boat crap, you’re coming with us tonight.”

The bonfire didn’t seem much attractive to me. I didn’t care to sit around a bunch of strangers sharing wisdom because what’s the point? My temper was too short, I knew I’d be too quick to beat one of their ass if they got outta line. At the same time, I could go gamble whenever, I didn’t have a formal job.

“That’s me missing out on free bread.” I stated.

“Fuck those dead slave masters!” Price said loudly, “No clocks, no windows, unlimited free soda, and you can smoke inside?,

“That place is a well structured trap, it’s not meant to win. Speaking of smoke, do you have an extra square on you?”

I reached and gave him a cigarette. He was absolutely right, casinos do suck. Sure, I had a easy scheme to win but the time it took was crazy. There was days I’d sit there for 5-6 hours just to double my money or break even. If not a trap for money, it surely was a trap for time.

“What time does the thing start?” I ask.

“Look at you, we’re gonna head over there around 7:30ish.” he informed

“Say less, just come swoop me.”

“You know I got you brother. Dude, Cell, they’re gonna like you so much-“

I interrupted him.

“Bro, I said say less.”

“My bad, my bad.”

“Hold on, I’m ‘bout to go grab your phone. Stay right here.”

I went to retrieve his phone. I walk out the room, my niece’s standing outside the door.

“Dope so good got the junkies coming back for more huh?” she said.

I simply ignored her ignorant comment and went to give hippie-man his phone.