Titus: “Okay, fine . . . I won’t be no pimp.”
So he got a new job working in a cosmetics factory,
boxing makeup.
But he became real distant. We weren’t hanging out all
the time like we used to. For example, I would drop him oĉ
at work, and then I was supposed to pick him up. ͳen he
wouldn’t call me to pick him up, and I didn’t know what he
was getting up to.
And he would ask to use my car, which was mne. But
then I wouldn’t see him for two days.
Yeah, I know, I know. In retrospect, the signs were
obvious. What’s funny is that it took a child to point them
out to me. I mean literally an eight-year-old child.
One day, I was hanging out with Titus’s mom and his
sisters, and this one sister—who was, I repeat, EIGHT
YEARS OLD AT THE TIME—spoke up.
Sister: “You know he cheating on you, girl. He cheating
on you with this girl he met at the strip club. He
pimping her in pornos.”
Tiffany: “What? Titus ain’t pimping nobody.”
Sister: “Yes he is.”
Tiffany: “You making this up.”
Sister: “No I’m not!”