HAM (Hard As a Muthaf**ka)

Glass Half Empty

                  I walked through the plastic flap curtains into the back- the prep area/heavy cooking area. Mos stood there in the back, playing the part of “Master Chef”, flouring down some catfish fillets in flour and corn starch. He’d then dump them in some water, drain it, then put a second coat of flour back on…he turnt to me, with his ugly apron on with a picture of a lobster on it. “Sup youngblood?”

                  “Nuttin…just seein what you doin, ol school,” I answered.

                  “Come over here, and help me out here on these fish,” Mos said.

                  “Nigga, you know I’m wearin my ‘good clothes’. I can’t be getting flour and fish shit on this- this is Ralph Lauren, nigga!” I griped.

                  “Nigga get that full-body smock and gloves over there!” snapped Mos. I chuckled as usual…Mos was kinda like that old crazy uncle that every family has, that gets the kids(mainly boys) to do the most insane shit. Be drinkin beer and liquor and smoking weed around you, tellin you, “don’t do this shit right here”- they be the main reason why you start experimentin wit weed and alcohol…so you can do as much dumb shit as they had.

                  I put on the smock, and gloves, and walked to the table. I pointed to Mos. “You get any fish shyt or flour crap on my clothes, I’m kickin yo ass, old man,”

                  “I swear, youngblood…you act like a really pretty bitch sometimes,” countered Mos. “You better watch what ol’ Mos is doin, so you can learn how to cook for yo ol’ lady- oh, I forgot…you don’t have an ol’ lady to cook for,”

                  “Don’t worry bout me. I got my shit on lock,” I said.

                  “Do you?” said Mos, as his tone changed. “Gabe just got out yesterday. He came to me, askin to sell…I played him like I onno what the fuck he talkin bout. You know that nigga gotta be snitchin- he was supposed to be in there til next year and he walkin the street a couple days after you get out. I’m tellin you- that nigga got fed hands all up his ass like a sock puppet or they fistin his asshole in a porno,”

                  I sat back, as this shit hit me like a boxing glove to the face…Gabe, a snitch? He wasn’t initially down wit me and Kant and the crew, but Gabe is from my block over on Aline…I went to grade school and middle school with him. I looked to Mos. “You sure about this?”

                  “Streets been tellin me that he been mouthin yo name to the po-pos when they had snagged you. Now that you out, I’m pretty sure the po-pos gonna be eyein you. I don’t give fuck if he from yo hood, J- don’t talk to that nigga. He a snitch,” said Mos, hard an’ stern.

                  It made sense, though- two weeks after they hemmed his ass up, the po-pos grabbed me. The truth was, I was sellin that night over there on Bankhead…but I didn’t have my stash on me. I had it in a trap, so I wouldn’t be caught wit it on me…only bad part was I had that dime bag of weed on me that night, which is why I’m doin the stupid probation shit. I sat there, thinkin…could Gabe have ratted a nigga out?

                  “You know that nigga gotta be dealt wit,” said Mos.

                  I sighed. “Yup,”

                  “If Kant is down to do it…I want you an’ him to see wassup- how much this nigga has been jaw-jackin,” said Mos. “Right now I’m pullin back on all my business. If this nigga cause a temporary halt on sales, niggas on the streets gonna be mad…Imma be mad, cause I aint in the green,”