A Blessing and a Curse (Life Knows No Bounds)

By Andrea Clinton

EXCERPT
He walked in the room closely behind her and turned on the light; he was curious of what she was wearing. It was barely dark outside, with a hint of light, but not enough to capture what exactly she was wearing. When he saw Malika in her new haircut and in that dress, in those high heels, he grew even more excited than he’d worked himself up to be when he planned his goodbye evening with her a few hours prior. He had it all figured out, he would set a mood and coax her into making herself up for him and he’d give her something to remember, to hold her down while he ran off and experienced life without her. She figured this much when she saw him in the sex robe; she didn’t need her gift of sight to see this coming.
“I think we need to talk, you know, chat a little bit about our feelings, what’s left.”
She passed him anyway, disregarding his arm, walking out the bedroom door and down the stairs. She went in the kitchen and he followed her.
“You look good tonight. I’m diggin’ that new hairdo.” Hooch, with his huge ego, was also focused. He’d not too long ago turned his baldhead into a shine head of which he knew she could never, ever resist. “Baby, I don’t wanna leave on a bad note. And you know I still feel for you; you’re my wife.”
I know you miss me as well, she thought to herself. But she headed to the foyer, cut through to the front room of the house and picked up the phone. She called her friend as he straddled behind her.
“Yeah, Beeny, I’m sorry; I’m not going to make it. No. Issues...Yep, those kind.”
Then she briefly explained in Pig Latin that she and Hooch had some issues so she was making a quick break for the Caribbean Islands.
Hooch was still trying to work on Malika, but her feelings for him lay dead. She moved two steps away from him and moved the phone to look back at him as if to say, “Stop it.”
Malika was about to hang up the phone when Hooch took it from her hand, “here, let me take that; I got it, baby,” he cooed, grazing her fingers.
“Listen, you’re dressed nicely and we don’t want it to go to waste... I made us lasagna, it’s in the oven, I’ll make you the garlic bread you like and we can...Enjoy our last night together.”
Malika told herself, Don’t fall for it girl, remember how he does when he rises off of you after getting his thrills; he’ll make you feel like crap. Sure, he’ll make sure you reach your peak but, after that, he’s out and you’ll wish you kept it moving.
As the car horn blew again...he just kept spinning his tangled web. When he felt the chill coming from her, he turned the heat of his game up two notches.
“I mean, baby, you never know, I mean, I can’t make you no promises, I can’t guarantee anything, but, baby, tonight could turn out good for us; give me something to smile about, you know, when I’m gone and I think about you. Let’s make it beautiful. It might bring me home,” he said, pausing when he saw her walking toward the luggage and opening the door.
“Yo, baby, where you going? What’s up?”
“I’m leaving,” she replied, nonchalantly, as she grabbed her bags and quickly headed out.
“Wait, what you mean you leaving? You not supposed to leave; I’m going, what you tryin’ ta pull? We already talked about it, Malika!”
Malika looked back at him, kept it moving and shook her head at how cocky he was, thinking he was in control of their situation, as usual. She grew a smirk on her face at the whole situation as she continued to the car.
“Stop!” He paused, “Baby, what you think you doing? I’m trying to do something here, something promising and you stepping all over it talking ‘bout leaving!” After seeing she was not going to stop and honor anything he said as she normally does, he got desperate, “I forbid you to leave! Malika, mind ya husband,” he yelled, standing by the door confident, knowing she normally grants him respect for his position as the head of the house.
She instantly turned and looked at him with a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrea Clinton
• Release date: Apr 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476122823

Andrea Clinton

Andrea Clinton is the niece of legendary, George Clinton of the funk band, P/Funk and is currently working on his and the families biography. Born in New Jersey, Andrea is a Novelist, Playwright, Screenwriter, filmmaker, Editor in Chief of AMISTAD newspaper (and soon Magazine). Previously a high school principal and high school English teacher, Andrea has degrees in Journalism, English & Film and is achieving her Masters in Theatre Studies. Andrea Clinton is also the CEO of a non-profit organization called People Helping People, Inc. She started the "Life Knows No Bounds" series as a book of short stories. But each story took on a life of it's own, so, instead they are 4 novels & a book of short stories. In 2002, Andrea was diagnosed with Lupus and it was then that she decided to contribute her stories to the world. Prior, she'd contributed her writings to newspapers and magazines.

Book preview

Point 2 Ponder

(Munch on this)

Life is for living, not for wasting time, plotting, planning, or getting too relaxed in your condition or dull tiresome routine. Although life can be stable, no one should get comfortable in it. Because life is a cycle, a sequence of events and if this is so, the seat in life that you presently reside in is a seat on a roller coaster that’s always due for some turn or another; and when it makes those sharp turns, it’ll drag you, heart pounding and racing and with you screaming for the ride to stop. But it won’t, at least not until life’s ready, because Life Knows No Bounds.

Just as in real life, after settling their feet in the dirt, the characters in Life Knows No Bounds get a subliminal rug snatched from under their feet and an electric shock to their nerves. It jolt and wakes them providing an un-invited invitation to remodel their lives. Without notice, they’re dumbstruck, lost and need to be found; and, that’s life.

Claire: Sad, but that’s life

Urma: What’s life?

Claire: A magazine

Urma: How much it cost?

Claire: $1.00

Urma: But I don’t have a $1.00

Claire: Well that’s life

Urma: What’s life?

Claire: A magazine

Urma: How much it cost?

Claire: $1.00

Urma: But I don’t have a $1.00

Claire: Well that’s life

Urma: What’s life?

Claire: A magazine

Urma: How much it cost?

Claire: $1.00

Urma: But I don’t have a $1.00

Claire: Well that’s life

Urma: What’s life?

Claire: A magazine

Urma: How much it cost?

Claire: $1.00

Urma: But I don’t have a $1.00

Claire: Well that’s life

Author Unknown, or,

maybe it’s just

"Life"

INTRODUCTION

Ghetto Embarrassing

"Lottie, li’l girl, how you expect him to want you when you ghetto embarrassing? Who would want you? Even a jailhouse, ghetto Negro as ignant as they come wouldn’t want you," Malika said, as she stood outside her garage, with one foot in the garage and one on the edge of the driveway pavement, just under the raised garage door, looking around the floor and garage shelves.

Malika, what you think you and ya family betta’ than me?! Lottie said, pacing around the driveway like a maniac.

"I don’t think nothing," Malika answered, as she glanced around, looking for one of her husband's cigars he usually leaves lying around. She was already stressed, but Lottie was so caught up in her own moment she didn’t notice.

"Oh, you think you know y’all betta’ than me? Huh!?"

Call it what you want. But you running ‘round here, yelling and telling people all over town that you pregnant by Ba’sim and that he betta’ own up to it. You don’t care how you look to people and what makes it worse, ya' loud!

Move out, li’l girl! ‘Cause you ain’t seen loud yet!

I’m a grown woman—'bout time you act like you know, Lottie!

To hell wit’ you, b—ch! Who you? I ain’t gotta do nuttin’!

I ain’t gon’ be too many of ya b—ches, Malika warned Lottie, spotting a cigar her husband must have hidden in the garage.

"Screw you, Malika! I don’t care how old you are. You can get served like the best of them."

For a young girl with a belly, you sure pop off at the mouth a lot, Malika said as she picked up the cigar, blowing the dust off.

My mouth! So, what?

Ya need to mind ya manners and get out my yard, Malika said as she put the cigar in her mouth while looking around for a light.

I ain’t gotta mind my manners fa' you, b—ch! You ain’t gonna do nothin’!

I done told you now; you ain’t got too many more times— Malika warned, lighting the cigar.

Or what? You wasn’t talking all that when my cousin Day’sia was here.

Ya cousin Day’sia wasn’t popping off at the mouth. And you the one make somebody wanna choke you, not Day’sia, Malika replied, taking a puff while lighting the cigar.

"Hell, you wasn’t popping off at me, either! Scary ass trying to act like you all tough. I’m over here almost e’ry day cussin’ yo’ so-called son out and you don’t do nothing but pull his dumb ass in the house! What? ‘Cause you got a semi reputation from 20 years ago for beating up one ho? B—ch, please! You ain’t do nothing all them days I was ‘round here tearing the roof off the mutha’ and you ain’t gon’ do nothing now!"

Or maybe you just didn’t come ‘round on a good day—like today. Today a good day; just had my husband, Hooch tell me we ain’t workin’ out, just had my son tell me what I believed most of my life to be a gift is really a curse, kids want us to be a family—husband wanna go. Oh, yeah, agitated, you popping off on a good day, Malika said, puffing the cigar and then shaking the ashes like she’s crazy, eyes bugged.

Look, look, look, I don’t wanna hear ya damn problems and I’m tired of smellin’ ya drunk-ass cigar! Tell ya fake ass son I said ta come out here! Now, b—ch! Lottie demanded, as she slapped her flat sandal against the pavement in the garage driveway for emphasis of her anger.

Malika lunged at Lottie’s throat. Lottie was startled out of her skin when Malika snatched her by the neck with both hands, cigar in mouth and one eye closed, making her look like a crazed, one-eyed pirate.

Didn’t I tell ya young ass I wasn’t gonna be too many more of ya b—ches! Still choking Lottie, she yelled, "didn’t I tell ya trouble making, stupid, ignant-ass today was a good day!" She was shaking Lottie’s neck and Lottie, helpless and in pain, was looking in shock as her oxygen began to close off. Just then, Malika’s adopted son, Ba’sim, came running out with her husband trailing behind.

Ma! Ma! Let her go, Ba’sim smirking, as he tried not to laugh, had finally reached them.

Malika, girl, you crazy! Let the girl go! Malika’s husband, Hooch, yelled out to her.

Ma, Ba’sim was finally pulling her off. What are you doing? He asked, standing between Malika and Lottie.

I’ma kill ’er! Young skank got a lotta mouth! I told her to scat! I told you today was a good day didn’t I, skank! Malika yelled, angered, Didn’t I!?

Lottie, now rubbing her throat and coughing, squeaked Yeah, but you didn’t do that when Day’sia was here! She was starting to cry, but trying to keep it together.

Taking the cigar out of her mouth, Malika retorted, She don’t have all that mouth you got. But, go get her—she can get some, too. As a matter of fact, tell that big b—ch I got something special for her big ass. Hooch grabbed Malika, surprised at her anger and outburst, as she yells at Lottie who’s walking down the driveway mad, holding her throat and yelling all sorts of ghetto obscenities. Getcha trashy hoe-ass up outta here! Malika yelled, as she puts the cigar in her mouth.

Hooch looking intrigued with Malika’s behavior, "Baby, what’s wrong with you? You crazy? You can’t be choking no pregnant girl like that! And she young, too. Are you crazy?"

Malika was still very much angry with Hooch. Her feelings were still extremely hurt from the conversation they’d had not long ago. His words weren’t abrasive or foul, but cut like a knife all the same and this darn near killed Malika. But, based on the look he now had, Malika saw he was turned on; for a split second, the feeling was mutual, but then she imagined him, after their pleasures were unconfined, rolling over out of bed and saying something cruel like, Don’t think this li’l piece of pleasure changes nothing. I still want out of this relationship! So, instead of feeding into his lusty eyes and getting her feelings hurt later, she rolled her eyes and turned away from him with dignity.

What Malika did to Lottie was not aimed at Lottie alone, although it was largely due to her behavior in the last few months at Malika’s house. She was tired of Lottie coming over and raising hell around her house. Sometimes it involved the police, sometimes it didn’t. But Lottie was really just afraid to be pregnant and to raise a baby alone. So she was always coming around woofing at Ba’sim and lately, this was almost daily.

Malika wanted to do something to stop her many times, but the situation was delicate. See, Ba’sim was 18, fresh out of high school and in college on a basketball scholarship. Lottie was 17, although she’d be 18 in a few months. The problem was she was underage and pregnant and this could work against Ba’sim. The only card they had was that Lottie had been sleeping around with another guy, so the baby could be either of theirs and Lottie couldn’t trace when she got pregnant. So the family tiptoed around Lottie and she knew the trump card she was holding.

Malika would’ve ignored her as she’d been doing, but today she was caught between worlds. She was confused, distressed and emotional. She was with no good feeling about her future, not with all the venom her husband had not long before spit in her face. This is the treatment I get and after all I sacrificed for him, she kept thinking to herself, burying her head in her hands. Then, this young stupid imp keeps coming around here with her li'l killer-convict brood, pissin' me off; gettin' me started, she continued thinking.

A Mystical Hot Mess

Malika’s life was not a typical one, but she was living the American dream. She had the house with the picket fence, nice car and was an artist and business partner to two other artists, where they co-owned an art gallery. She was a housewife and a mother of many. Although she loved her family and their life together, she’d long since accepted that she traded all she could be to care for her family and have a nice, calm life.

Malika was a pretty woman of brown-skinned complexion. All who knew her agreed she looked much younger than she was. She was in her early thirties and would go up and down in size, flexing between sizes 12 to 16, with her not so nice husband assuring her a 14 was fat and a 12 was barely acceptable. She was average, yet pretty, 5’ 8½" woman with beautiful lengthy, thick hair that she always switched up into different hairdos. It’s the least I can do for myself, she thought. However, in the last two years, she twisted her hair in long dread locks she’d have her beautician and friend undo before they could actually lock. Three to four hours a week not spent in the beauty parlor gives me more painting and drawing time, she told her beautician.

As far as fashion or elegant dress, she was no diva. She did not regularly partake in such attire and endeavors, unless they were having an elegant art show filled with buyers of high class and status, which could be anywhere from four to six times a year. It wasn't that she was blind to such style, but, more so that her life just didn't permit her free time to indulge. Instead, you could find her in a pretty blouse, dress pants and two-inch heels; and in the summer months, a soft summer dress, jean dress, or skirt and casual top. Hooch, her husband, would often admire her attractiveness in her attire, but would look up at her face and say, My wife, the mystical, hot mess, then turn and shake his head at her.

That’s Just my Baby Daddy

Malika’s husband, Hooch, was a handsome, standoffish, strong-statured man, about 6’ tall and weighing in at 225 pounds. He was muscle bound and worked out as if it were an addiction, still thinking he was a college football player. He wore a baldhead and kept it shiny, which was one of the things that kept Malika’s attraction to Hooch alive. Although, it wasn't the shine alone that drove Malika nuts about her husband's dome. She had her own arousing and breathtaking reasons that made her fall weak. The shine was merely a reminder of the sensational pulse she'd always succumb to when he would embrace her or offer the slightest touch.

A grouchy, mature man in his thirties, Hooch was a jock, sun up ‘til sun down and would gather with the fellas each season for men’s flag football, basketball, softball and volleyball games; a sports fanatic to the very end. I hate that you had the accident with your knee. I think you'd be much happier around here and in life; and, we'd have all the nice things you wanted to buy with your first NFL check, Malika would say to him, trying to show some sympathy for a dream in loss.

Malika, baby, please, if I didn't hurt my knee and played for the Giants or the Eagles, we wouldn't be married today, he said in a nasty tone he often used with her, especially to shoot her down from the loving mood she'd be in, trying to soothe him. But, Hooch ran hot and cold like that and oftentimes, he couldn't even stand himself.

Together, they lived in what appeared to be harmony, with Hooch at times being either complicated, silent, or a grouch. Seeing so many families very similar, Malika accepted this life as the norm. She believed putting up with things you don’t desire from your husband was all a part of being a happy family and she became comfortable with her life. Until suddenly, one Saturday morning, as she put it to her mirror, Life, out of nowhere, like a tornado, swirled around, snatched me up by my collar and threw me in the air, only to mercilessly cowboy smack the piss out of me, knocking me into hopelessness. I never even knew what hit me. I cried out to life, begging for mercy to no end and to no avail, screaming, ‘What did I do to deserve this? What did I doooo?’ I don’t even know how to pray about it; I’m frozen stiff, in shock.

Why you Got ta be so Nasty Ray?

— Claude, Life

"‘Cause I’m a nasty Mutha…"

— Ray, Life

Earlier on the day of the tiff between Malika and Lottie, it was a regular day in the neighborhood, all was going well. No one woke up on the wrong side of the bed; no arguments, or even mean looks. Malika spent a few hours scrubbing the kitchen down and had begun washing the dishes left over from the fabulous Saturday morning breakfast she made her family. She felt bad that her twins were off to their grandma's house and missed her famous, moist garlic buttermilk biscuits. But then, who should romp into the kitchen, happy to have a quiet, peaceful house, but Hooch. He went in and made himself a five-minute masterpiece of a sandwich and got a cold beer. But he noticed when he picked up his beer and looked at his path out of the kitchen, Malika, his wife, hadn’t paid him any attention, not even a look. Being the spoiled husband he was, Hooch stared at the table and thought to himself in self-pity, It’d be different if she was daydreaming, but she been ignoring me for a while now. What? She don’t love me no more? She don’t find me attractive? Hell, I don’t find her that attractive anymore myself. Two kids later and she done gained about 20 to 30 pounds, making me work harder during romance; and these days that’s whenever we get to that point. I ain’t used to this crap! She don’t know, this is why I started sleeping with Glenda at work last year. I stopped ‘cause I felt guilty, but don’t give me a reason to go back. And wait, looking all confident over there with her fat, big ol’ hips. What, she want out? I want out, too, then. And I had been wanted out with all these kids running up and through here. I ain’t no dorm father! I like a certain type of woman and you ain't been it for some years now! Ignoring me." Then he turned his nose up and continued out of the kitchen, snarling at her in his mind, trying to overlook the feeling of inadequacy he felt.

Malika, had she been a normal human being, wouldn’t have known what just took place in Hooch's mind. But, fortunately, or unfortunately, Malika had what they call the gift of foresight; yes, she can see into the future and read shadows of the past. But, she could also read into one’s mind, yes ESP; she noticed this as a little girl and thought it was a fluke.

Oftentimes, she couldn’t see even a twinkling into her own future, at least not on purpose. It wasn’t unheard of that she’d unknowingly block her future, or the future of anyone close to her. She seemed to only be able to see their futures if there was a calamity coming, or they were to gain some sort of misfortune. Then, an adrenaline rush would overtake her and she would read their future event like a label.

To her surprise and her dismay, she saw straight into Hooch’s thinking and not on purpose. She was deep in thought, heard someone come in and felt his presence as he let the refrigerator door slam. Before she knew it, she was in, in his mind. She didn't catch it all, but she caught enough. As Hooch left out of the kitchen, Malika began to weep. She dropped the dishcloth in the sink while washing the last bowl and wept.

The last time this sort of thing happened was when they were about to go to bed and he’d just closed a magazine when she walked into the bedroom, tucked it under the bed and pulled the cover over his head and said to himself, I hope she don’t freakin’ touch me. I think I’ll die if she does. Malika grabbed her pillow, went and got a sheet from the closet and headed to the living room to sleep. Hooch was about to go and apologize as he figured her thing as he calls it, must have ratted him out. But he didn’t, he spread out across the bed like the unbearable husband he oftentimes was and fell asleep.

Malika remembered this and remembered it distressingly. She tried to find something pleasant in her mind about him so that she wouldn’t grow to hate him because of his thoughts, as she’d had some not so nice thoughts of her own. But her thoughts were due to him removing even more of his heart and soul from hers in the past two years, where the only bonding they achieved was in the flesh and only when it was weak after much foiling caused frustration and a build-up of desires.

But, on this bright and shiny Saturday, Malika thought she should be strong and get it together quickly. So, she picked up the dish, trying to keep moving forward. She was trying to continue giving him space as she had been since the comment in bed. But just as she’d finished washing the bowl and started getting into wiping everything down, Hooch was back, watching her and thinking she didn’t care about him and all sorts of other things he’d been working up in his mind.

Then he figured, she probably felt him there and was reading his mind, but he didn’t care. This really pissed him off and, before he knew it, he was picking a fight with her, angered that Malika offered no sensitivity to his sudden feeling of being unwanted.

Malika, we need to talk. Or rather, I need to say something.

Malika looked up and turned toward him, thinking, here goes one of his tantrums; I’ll go ahead and let him get it over with. But Hooch saw she was preparing for his usual outburst. He immediately got offended and dropped his head, thinking, so she thinks I'm coming with my drama again, hmmm," he thought. His horns grew as he prepared to slam dunk her.

When he lifted his head, Malika looked into his eyes and immediately felt he was about to hit her below the belt. He had a malicious look in his eyes that she'd seen before and was all too familiar with. So, she sat at the kitchen table wondering what that feeling was that she had in the pit of her stomach.

Listen, he said, very obnoxiously, let’s just keep it real. I ain’t happy and you ain’t been happy, either. You walkin’ ‘round here like a zombie, spending all your time tending to the house and the kids, leaving me hangin'. But, while I been alone, I been getting these feelings. I can’t explain them, but you ain’t giving me nothin' good to go on.

To this, Malika stood, What the hell are you talking about!? All I do is take care of you and the kids. I look out for y’all more than myself.

"Don’t raise your voice in my house! And no—you look out for them. I ain’t been looked out for, for months, except one time here and one time there. And another thing, I don’t get down with those once or twice a months in the bedroom."

Baby, I was just giving you room; you look so aggravated all the time and I—

Cutting her off from finishing her thought, Malika, I don’t wanna get into who did what and why and all of your sorry excuses! It’s irrelevant now.

He knew he was ahead of her gift now, as he remembered well she usually can’t see straight when it comes to her love life, especially when she’s aggravated, nervous or emotional. And when she can see, it’s usually through a dream. But, now she was awake and he felt as if he was ahead of the game with her feeling as she made some bad decisions regarding him. He in his evil mode, worked his spontaneous plan to make her feel just as unwanted as he. He got a combustible thrill out of having more insight than she as to what was about to go down and how serious, or real it was, or wasn’t.

"I basically just want to tell you, Malika, we need space. I’m not saying we’ll stay apart forever, but I can’t guarantee it won’t be. I just—I can’t make no promises, baby. But I know I, aaah, I need some space, basically. I need space away from you, these damn kids, the bills, everything. Some me time, like you women always talking about. I mean, look; look at me… He paused, looking at her very arrogantly, in a thug like stance as if he’s very disgusted with their life. He knew the more he acted as if he didn’t want her, he’d make her feel lost and this might humble her to her knees before him; he wanted to knock her down a few pegs and pop in every now and again to check on the effects of it, so just as often as he looked away, he’d look back at her, Baby, look at me! I’m still young, I mean, look at you; I don’t look as old as you do, screwing his face up. Plus, it’s the weekend and I’m here! Home! With you! No plans, no nothing. It’s like I don’t have a life with you! DaAAAAmn! We ain't 60 something years old. We in our early thirties. But look how we living in this vicious, boring ass cycle!"

Yelling, she jumped at the base in his voice. She also grew weary from the shock and unnerving fear of being left, dumped. She knew something was coming, but didn’t know what. She didn’t want to lose her man; she felt she just couldn’t endure that, especially after she put forth so much effort to be on point within their marriage.

"Malika, I’m starting to hate my life with you! That ain’t cool. So, before I grow to hate you and this whole scene around here, I’ll be staying with one of my boys for a minute, while I clear my head and decide my next move. I saw some apartments not far from here, maybe I’ll decide on living close for the kids’ sake, he said, as he shrugged his shoulders and headed toward the back door. I just can't do it no more. Where ya earrings, Malika? Look at you. Where ya necklace I bought you when the boys were babies? Where ya nice clothes? I ain't even dressed up, just Giant's jersey, men's jean capris and Jordan's and I still look fly. You look like you don't even care about yourself. Tee-shirt, tennis lookin' dress, hair in the same damn ponytail; I don't care if it's silky straight. Do something with it! How can I…? You got clothes upstairs in the attic tucked away in storage. The only time I'm proud you my wife is when your art gallery hosts an event. But at home, here, you just switch up between, like, 12 different outfits; never going in the back of your closet or getting your stuff out the attic and, you got money. I pay all the bills, most of 'em. You – are – unattractive, Malika; brown skin, but look pale, hair long, but, for what? Same plain three hairstyles, temporary dreads almost all the time; once in a while you switch up to long and wild bushy hair all over ya head, or a ponytail. Oh wait, I might get a few cornrow hairdos outta you throughout the year," he told her, as he stared at her as if to call her a weirdo. He screeched while shrugging his shoulders, eyes alert and using the most offensive body language he could bear, What's wrong with you? He looked confident he completed his mission and her silence and body language encouraged his ego to walk away from her with swagger. Standing on the back porch, he was a king on top of the world, taking big whiffs of the bright sunny day. He stood there swinging his arms, arrogant and pausing, taking in a big whiff of backyard air as if to show Malika he was looking forward to a fresh new start without her and the kids. Then he looked back seeing her now standing there, stiff, shook and in shock, staring at the floor.

Malika, I’m just saying, he began, as he was going down the first step and looking back in the house, one of us gotta go and I’m the one who needs space from all this; can’t be you who leave. Although I wish it could, it’d be easier on me; it’s really my family’s house anyway, you know; and I don’t really wanna leave my own house. But…

And just like that, he walked down the