Catching sight of the golden rays of sun peeking through the leaves of the trees lining the sidewalk, Leo slowed down long enough to appreciate the growing familiarity of the sights. The dusk air felt crisp as Leo pulled the zipper of his blue sweater up and warmed his hands inside his pockets, making his way down the block to the delicatessen on the corner.
When last we spoke, The Good Right Archbishop, Apostle and Dr. Charlotte Saunders-Wright-Johnson Smith agreed to connect me with the Black Godfather of Atlanta. The last thing she said was “…anything for Lita…” It’s been several weeks but I’ve heard nothing. I call the Good Right Archbishop and she says “…the wheels are in motion...:
ICE PICK here, and I am HOT today (in more ways than one). If I were you, I’d BACK THE FUCK UP, sit down, shut up, and LISTEN. Alright, alright, Dr. Flo’s nudging me, reminding me about catching more flies with honey and shit. I’ll try, Flo, sheesh. You see that?! You could take a lesson or two from me about how to LET SOME GODDAMN WOMEN INFLUENCE YOU. That is, if you can open your rigid, tight ass, thick skull...
I made it to the New Millennium. Lita is my girlfriend. Lita is a very attractive West Indian Sister from the Dorchester area outside of Boston. She has an ass and chest on her that just won’t quit. She may have missed her calling. Lita do well in the Adult Entertainment Business except she has a screw loose. She is sweet as hell, but she is hysterically jealous. Like, burn your shit up with you in it jealous.
