I close my eyes and I open them to what I so uniquely imagine….
I am sitting in a restaurant.
I’m in a black booth with red leather seats.
It is shaped like a dysfunctional cupcake.
I am far in the back.
I’m not the type to be all in the front.
That is where it is easy access for everyone to bother and stare at me.
I despise people staring at me.
I am in a special VIP seating where only the big ballers pay.
I was one of those big ballers at last….
The waitress comes over.
She was petite blonde college girl with freckles and the prettiest blue eyes.
You can tell this was her first job far away from Mommy and Daddy’s trust fund.
She looks at me in denial, but keeps a smile on her face.
I could read it like the headline on the front page of New York Post.
In big bold white letters, I saw: “What is this BLACK guy doing in a restaurant like this?”
She wasn’t there to ask questions because her job is to serve.
Trust fund or not.
I order a Chardonnay; chilled.
She asks if I want an appetizer.
I am still trying to figure out what for my full-course meal.
500… but that was for a bottle.
I ordered the lobster and shrimp ravioli in tomato sauce.
I love pasta with a passion.
I smiled at her and she graciously smiled back.
“Yeah. HE is nice too.”
I wanted to keep it light today.
I was eating alone so no need to be in here that long.
Just letting these people in here get use to seeing me more often.
Sometimes you need to let people see you but not hear you.
I wasn’t like my ghetto counterparts that just got a little bit of change.
Cackling like a bunch of caught up cocks in a tight cage.
Jamari was cut from a different cloth.
I move in silence at all times.
My baller was somewhere other than here.
Good because he was getting on my nerves about this lockout.
He decided to fly out of the state to go lay low with family.
I had him on a strict budget anyway.
He wasn’t allowed to go within 50 feet of a restaurant or shoe store.
He has an important meeting with a clothing company with possibilities to model on Monday.
I promised Daddy if he does well, he can purchase whatever new Jordans hit the scene.
She brought my wine and left the bottle.
She tried to make small talk.
I’m polite so I engage.
She was low-key trying to fish for information.
Wait until she sees my credit card.
I’m sure Mommy and Daddy will get a phone call about this later.
My Blackberry starts to vibrate.
It is this rapper/producer I met at an event earlier this week.
He is cute, but I am playing hard to get for a while.
I like to keep them interested.
No need in acting like I am new to keeping them on their toes.
I’ll leave that to the rookies with hungry Foxholes.
Here comes my food.
God I am starved….