The Ghetto Hug

I needed to buy some software at a reasonable price. I found someday online on Craigslist. I emailed him and he emailed me, and after going back and forth a few times, we took the next step and I gave him my phone number. He called me. We talked. I told him what I needed. He said he had it, and that he could deliver it in an hour. I said great! Meet me at the corner of. He said he’d call me when he was in the neighborhood. An hour later true to his word he called me to say he was nearby. I could tell by his voice that he was a young black man in his late twenties, early thirties. Sure enough a black man in a brand new silver Jaguar pulled up. His girlfriend was asleep in the passenger seat. It looked like she had it rough, but she didn’t, she had it easy. She had her forearm over her eyes, and looked very unhappy.

He was friendly from the get go. He got out of his car and opened his trunk. Hey man I said. We were instant buddies, friends, pals. We shook each others hand and give a ghetto hug and preceded to business. He handed me a cracked copy of what I needed and gave me quick instructions on how to load it. Do you have music software? I asked, while handing him the money. Yeah I have bling bam boom. I said great. I can sell to for ten bucks. What else do you have? I have bang boom blah, and zing zang maa. Cool I said. We were in Hancock Park at the corner of with the trunk open talking about software, not weed, or crack like in the old days, but software. Technology. We gave each other another ghetto hug, shook each other’s hand and went our separate ways. I had the product and he drove away with the sleeping beauty with the headache.