I kept thinking why are we out here in the middle of the dance floor holding hands dancing, her chin pressed on my collar bone. I should have just walked out the door continued down the path I was going and never looked back
"Those flowers were they for me?" she said "No." I replied. She just smiled knowing I was lying; she was good at that, telling men that there lies don't faze her. Jessica Magnifique, that was her name, she’s 5'11 slim built with a body, the type of girl that you didn’t tell your friends about and just showed up and watch their jaws drop. I realized that's why I was dancing, because she was one of a kind "so what do you think of him?"
What kind of question is that? I looked at her thinking to myself ok is this a joke you asked me too dance too see what I thought of him? I didn’t respond she grabbed me closer. "He's the big client I was telling you about" she was a publicist so this was her job bringing new clients out to gatherings too show them off. "Are you dating him?" I hesitate to ask, the answer to this question changes everything; (he starts to remember Saturday) you see Saturday wasn't any regular night. We started just talking on the phone, she was supposed to be staying home and I was supposed to be going to the club. She offered to cook; it was still early so i went over for dinner. We weren't really dating we had been out a bunch of times together to functions like this here and there. When I got to the door I couldn’t smell the food outside, I began to wonder if she had waited to see what I wanted to eat before she started cooking. She opened the door and there she was standing looking elegant and then she kissed me, something we hadn't done till then, she took my coat and told me dinner was in the bed room; who eats in the bedroom I thought but hey it’s a first time for everything. I approached the door and it was fruit salad good fruit too, not the apple bananas type, but the mango pineapple strawberry’s with honey type. I waited for her as she entered the room. She began to smile, "I hope you like fruit," she said. (Now back on the dance floor) She smiled and frowned. "Well sort of he's my ex, I wanted to tell you but I didn’t get a chance, he just picked me up and here we are."
"So what happens to us?" I ask. Such a concept. Us. A month ago us was late night conversation and cocktails, six nights ago, us was a fruit salad and honey all over her body. Today, us is me standing in the center of a room dancing with a woman who is here with her ex.
"We're going to remain the way we are...close," she said "Honey are you ready to go?" her man friend said, standing by the door as he began to walk out. "So I guess this dance is over," I say.
She looked ashamed, like I said something to offend her. She puts her head down and then looks up at me. "I didn't want it to be like this," she says. Then she kisses me as if no one was in the room. As if her man didn't just call for her to leave. "I'll call you tomorrow" she says as she releases my hand.
Stunned I muster to find words. "I won't answer," I mumble, but its already too late as she is already out the door. I’d answer, she knew I’d answer. The question is what was she going to say?
When I left that night I was confused, I didn’t know what to think. Did I really just get punked, played like a fool? I mean come on. What could she possibly have to say, 'look Alex I didn't mean to make things awkward however I couldn't just tell him I wasn't coming and I didn't get the chance to call you, can you ever forgive me?' She'd probably lick her lips and give me the sad face becayse that’s what women do to make things all better. That's not what would happen though.
Sometimes, it must fall upon the journalist to ensure that what they are hearing in an interview is clear enough that they can truthfully and accurately present their subject's words as quotations. This may require asking for an answer repeatedly, admitting you missed something that could have been important, or actively picking and choosing which quotes should be completely captured in a form of verbal triage. Other times, it may simply require asking the subject to slow down because your cell phone's speaker is woefully inadequate. Such was the case with Kirko Bangz, and regrettably, I did not follow the advice laid out above. The following is what I can transcribe from my conversation with the Houston hopeful, whose Drake on promethazine approach has been reverberating within the scene.
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