“Hair, Grammy, chill.”
Henrietta rolled her eyes and regarded him through narrowed eyes.
“Don’t try to be smart with me. I know, it’s hair. Why are you trying so hard to be a thug?”
His smart retort died on his tongue and he took a long drag from his joint. The old lady coughed and he snuffed the thing out under his boot, and waved the smoke away from her.
“Sorry ‘bout that. Thought it’d be ok out here in the open.”
“Yes, well, it’s a filthy habit, son and as for…”
The beer bottle froze halfway to his lips, and with a wry grin at himself and the power this old woman still had over him, he put that offensive item on the floor by his boots.
“Better?” he asked, winked at her, and Henrietta gave him one of her rare smiles. The ones that had meant all the trouble makers in the neighborhood always tried their utmost for her.
“Much, but really Jimmy, what happened to you? You had such potential.”
The gentle criticism stung and he shrugged.
“Life. You were the only one who ever believed in me.”
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