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My mom, now that’s a different story. Ain’t no telling what she gonna do when that trumpet sounds.”
    â€œWell, that’s why you need to get on up out of there, baby.”
    â€œI’m trying, baby. You see where I’m at right now.” She gestured back toward the shop.
    â€œI know, but I don’t want you to have to struggle.”
    â€œI ain’t go no other choice,” said Dream. She paused. “Do I?”
    Smokey smiled. “I’m coming up on some money here in a minute, and me and you can get away. We can have a life together and shit. You can open up your business, and I can do my thang.”
    â€œWhat’s your thang, Smokey, and why are you dressed like a white boy? Do that got something to do with your thang?”
    Smokey looked down and cursed. He hadn’t realized he’d run four blocks around the way looking like a fool, until she mentioned it. He was surprised no one tried to mug him, or whoop his ass just for the hell of it.
    â€œThis is just business.”
    â€œSee, Smokey!” said Dream. “I’m so tired of this. I’m tired of people doing they thangs.”
    â€œNaw, not this. My thang is legit. Once I get up enough money, I can put my CD out.”
    â€œAnd how you plan on getting up on that money? You gonna keep switching clothes with white boys?”
    â€œI got plans, baby. Big plans.” He added a guttural gangsta giggle he knew turned the ladies on.
    â€œJust stay out of trouble.” She punched his chest again.
    â€œIf you get sent up, or shot down, I’ll be all alone.”
    â€œBaby, I’m good. Don’t worry about me, baby. I’m going to take care of us.”
    She pressed her head against his chest, banging his mouth with her beehive. He almost pushed her away, butthat wouldn’t be prudent. This was a tender moment, progress was being made. He knew she’d soon belong to him.
    â€œI need you to do me a favor.”
    â€œAnything.” She rested her open hands on his broad pectorals, more for her own pleasure than his, savoring the fact that she had someone she could sensuously rub.
    â€œI need you to drop me off at this spot down on Twenty-first.”
    â€œWhat for?” asked Dream.
    â€œOh, so now you askin’ me questions. What, you don’t trust me?”
    â€œNo, I just…I mean, you got a car,” said Dream, reaching out and touching him again, the omnipresent fear of abandonment blazing in her eyes like a fireball.
    â€œNaw, don’t touch me. Don’t say nothin’ to me!” said Smokey, swatting her hands away.
    Then came the tears.
    â€œBaby, please don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I trust you. I don’t know why I asked you,” begged Dream.
    Smokey stopped.
    â€œBaby, just get in the car. Please get in the car,” she pleaded. She ran after him and pulled his arm as if he were the midpoint on a rope in a tug-of-war with the streets. Smokey was surprised by her strength and determination. He had her right where he wanted her.
    With his back to her, Smokey smiled. He turned around and ripped his arm away, tearing the white boy’s shirt in the process. Dream fell to the ground, clutching the torn shirt like it would soon be all she had left. He ripped the torn piece of cloth away from her, then got in the car.
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    W hen are we gonna tell them about us?” asked Dream driving past the pizza shop on Twenty-fourth that sells more than pizza.
    Smokey looked at her, then looked away. He said nothing.
    â€œWhen the time is right,” said Smokey, as they passed Twenty-second and the apartments behind the corner where young boys with NBA jerseys threaten to end each other’s lives.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with right now?” asked Dream as she turned on Twenty-first, flinching as she heard what sounded like gunshots. Dream wasn’t used to this part of town.
    â€œIt’s