I wanted to curl up under the table and die.
When Roscoe mnished singing, everybody went nuts and
cheered and screamed and clapped. You know how white
people do, they just encourage and cheer anybody who lets
it all hang out and just don’t give a fuck. Roscoe got excited
by all this attention and sang another quick song. I can’t
even remember what it was, I was still so mad and
embarrassed about that comment from that bitch.
He mnally came and sat down. He was sweating and all
out of breath, because he basically just performed a concert.
He took a long swig of his beer, reached over the table with
his good arm, grabbed my hand with that strong hand, while
his little dead hand rested on the table. He looked all deep
into my eyes, and I was looking at him, and all I could think
was that I wanted to kill the rest of my wine. I wanted to
down the rest of it, but I didn’t want to seem like a lush. He
was looking at me, and he said:
Roscoe: “Tiĉ-a-Knee, I juss wanna tell youuuu, I feel
like I’m da luckiest man alive. If I die to-mar-oooow,
it’d be my happiess day of my life. I’m serious, if I die
to-mar-oooow, dat’s mne, dis da most wunnerful day.
A girl as booty-full as youu to be out wiffa guy like me,
is the most wunnerful day evaa of my life.”Tiffany: “Oh, Roscoe, it’s no problem, we work
together, we cool.”Roscoe: “No, Tiĉ-a-Knee, you don’t unnerstan. Dis the