Long line at the liquor store and I'm the only white girl. The man in front of me wears clean jeans up around his waist, laced work boots, a shiny red vest and baseball cap. He's lucid, unlike many others who frequent the store. He might be my age, 28, or older--old enough to have slowed down a little but not much. He recognizes someone farther up in line, a tall man, with a shiny head. This man looks older and little less lucid, a like he might be picking up refills for a night that's already begun. On his way out the door, he stops to slap hands.
"Hey man, how you doin?"
"Doin aight." They exchange pleasantries for a while. The man in front of me explains that he's on his way home from work.
"Hey, you know Donnell's about to be comin home soon," says the shiny headed man.
"That right?"
"Yeah, man. He got 20 years."
The first man doesn't hear at first. Then he does. He says in a quieter voice. "Yo Donnell got 20 years?"
The shiny headed man nods seriously, on his way out of the door. "And now he's comin home."
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