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realizing I was a little turned around. I searched for the Seventh Avenue exit sign for the third time. When I turned again, I heard someone call my name. My heart instantly skipped a beat.
    “ Candice, is that you?”
    I turned in the direction of the voice.
    “ Gurl…what the hell you got on?” I knew it was Tracey. It had been a while since we’d seen each other, but she hadn’t changed. Still a thick chick, she reminded me of Adele Givens’ character, Tricks from The Playa’s Club. Though only twenty-eight, Tracey looked as though she’d lived a hard, long life, and her speech confirmed it.
    “ Bitch, what’da hell you been doin’? Liftin’ weights and shit? Look at you, all toned and shit. You still a lil’ petite bitch, though. And you still killin’ em with dat ass,” she said.
    She grabbed my arm and twirled me around, studying me like I was gonna be sold on the block. “Damn, Candice, yo shape look good enough to eat, but where the hell are yo shoes, and what happened to yo clothes? And what’s that white shit on the side of your mouth? You must‘ve been sleepin’ like hell on the train.”
    I wanted to ask her where the hell her original set of teeth were, because she was laced with four gold teeth shining brightly in the front of her mouth. Instead, I replied, “Long story. Can we get outta here?”
    I started leading the way, like I knew where I was going. For some reason, now that I was around Tracey, I felt even more embarrassed than before at my appearance. Tracey had always known me to be real serious about my clothes back when I had money. Whatever was hot, I rocked. And if I was five minutes late on it, Rich would already have it waiting for me. That was the life I used to live, and Tracey knew it.
    She walked behind me in her black freak’um dress and three inch green heels staring at my outfit, probably wondering how I’d gone from riches to rags. She didn’t say much more, just shook her head until we got outside the station.
    “ Where’s your car?” I asked, looking around.
    “ Car? That’s funny. Bitch, I barely make enough loot to keep a roof ova’ my head. I catch rides with my flava of the month, or rely on pit and pat.” She smacked her lips together.
    “ Who is that?”
    “ My feet, bitch.” She laughed wildly. For some reason, Tracey had that kind of laugh that made other people want to laugh too…Even if you didn’t think it was funny. She started walking down Eighth Avenue, but kept talking. “But you can’t do that, cuz. We gotta get yo ass some shoes before we do anything else.”
    I shook my head and followed. We stopped at some off-brand store to get me some shoes and a jacket, compliments of Tracey. It wasn’t what I wanted, but served the purpose.
    After that, it took us another thirty minutes to make it to Tracey’s apartment on West 127th Street. We didn’t talk much on the way there, because she’d been on the phone with someone named Luke the whole time, the guy she called her flava of the month. They talked in codes mostly, with uh hum’s and ah umm’s. I felt kinda strange, so once we approached her apartment, and she hung up the phone, I asked her if she’d been talking about me. Tracey was my cousin, but I had serious trust issues.
    She put her hands on her hips and hesitated before responding. “Damn, girl, you still nosey. But if you must know, yes. I called my friend Luke, ‘cause I want him to meet you. He’s a playa and knows big people in big places,” she smacked, in between words.
    I gave her a funny look and crossed my arms. I knew game when it was being dealt. “What is he, a pimp?” I asked. “‘Cause I ain’t no hoe.”
    “ Shit, you used to be drug dealer, what’s the difference,” Tracey fired back. At first she had this nonchalant look on her face, until she noticed the sadness in my eyes. “Look, lil’ cuz, I’m just an outta shape stripper. I ain’t got yo shapely bod, lil’ waistline, and big tits,”