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that she never gives back. She pawned five of my vacuum cleaners I continued to let her borrow, and that was one of the main reasons I moved. My mother smokes so much crack that I wonder how she even pays her bills, but then I remember we're in the same line of work. As a matter of fact, we have some of the same customers.
    In the back of my mind, I wonder if she gave it to me.
    Hell, she gave me the game by always telling me that if I wanted or needed anything, there's some sucka out here who would give it to me, and that I better get mine like she gets hers. She lived by the rule fuck you, pay me , which she'll tell a nigga in a heartbeat. I don't know any other way of getting money. But I ain't tied to these no-good-ass niggas so I have the best of both worlds - money and dick with no one to report to.
    Five months ago, my world shattered. I wonder if the doctor told my mother the same thing that he told me.
    "Daffany Stans, you're HIV positive," Doctor Scott said. I screamed and cried for fifteen minutes in his T. Styles
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    office, trying to convince him to change the results.
    "Take it back! Take it back," I pleaded with him. I was so delusional that I thought he could change my life by simply sayin' it wasn't true or that he made a mistake, as opposed to thinking about all the men I sucked or fucked without a condom 'cuz they was willing to pay a few more dollars.
    I told him there was no way I was positive. I wasn't even sick. After he told me over and over that he couldn't lie to me and threatened to call security, I decided he must've gotten my results mixed up with someone else's. "Look at the name over again," I demanded. But then he handed me the paper with the name I've known all my life on it. Damn! It was definitely Daffany Stans.
    I've always been quiet, but more so over the last few months. Sky says that when you're quiet, people think you're sneaky. Maybe it's true. But lately, I feel like there's even less shit to talk about. I can't laugh knowing that, in the end, nothing is funny. I will always have fuckin' HIV. The little things that are important to everybody else are not important to me anymore. I'm a walking zombie just waitin' for my number. And if it wasn't for my friends, I'd be gone already.
    Parade thinks she has troubles because she isn't the most attractive person in the world. I would trade shoes with her in a heartbeat. She's not even unattractive. She makes herself ugly because she doesn't take care of her skin or have the slightest idea what to do with her hair. She has pretty eyes, a pretty smile and a 38
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    Black and Ugly
    beautiful complexion, but every time me and Miss Wayne tell her, she just rolls her eyes at us. So I don't tell her anymore. I got problems of my fuckin' own now and that's all I can think about.
    ~~~~
    "Oooooh, Miss Daffany. Girl, that outfit is lookin'
    fierce. I don't know if I can let you get in here with us, wearing that. Miss Sky, pull off, girl." Miss Wayne laughs from the inside of the car.
    I get in and everybody is smellin' and looking good.
    Sky took Parade to her salon she goes to in DC and even she looks nice. The short curls in her hair soften her features and bring out her beauty. She has makeup on and everything.
    "Don't hold back, bitches," I say as I get in the car and smell the weed. "Pass that shit around." Weed and E-pills are the only things that make me feel normal. On E, I don't have a care in the world. I popped before I left the house and I'm starting to feel a little better. I don't tell them that I fuck with E
    because they act all bourgeois and shit when it comes to Ecstasy, talkin' about people be lunchin' out on that shit. What Sky doesn't know is that I buy all my pills from Jay and depending on how much money I have and what he wants, I don't have to pay. Every now and again, he'll pop one with me.
    "Here you go, girl," Miss Wayne says as he passes the bob. "So, what time does it