It was fucking cold. The wind whipped around the city mercilessly, snatching foliage from vulnerable trees and leaving garbage cans scattered in its wake. Fall came abruptly this year in Philadelphia. Only last week the temperature had been in the sixties, allowing the city's residents the option to go sleeveless. Now everyone wore jackets, whether they liked it or not.
Ace slipped his rough, tattooed fingers around the cup of hot water he had just purchased and slipped out of the local bodega. Like everyone else, he was unprepared for the quick drop in temperature. Not a tea drinker, he'd ordered a cup and refused the generic tea bag before Mr. Bautista slipped it inside. The liquid warmed his cool fingertips instantly, leaving them with a tingling sensation. His alertness was second nature, a learned habit apparent by the easy way he scanned his surroundings as he walked toward Fifth Street. Ace's phone vibrated in his pocket with urgency, but he ignored it. It wasn't until the third series of tremors that he fished the BlackBerry out of his pocket.
"Yes?"
"You need to start answering your phone, I hate when you do that shit," An annoyed male voice scolded. It was obvious from the unusually deep and raspy tone that this guy had just greeted the sun.
"I hate when you drawl like a bitch, but there's nothing I can do about that either. What's the deal, man?"
Ace slipped his hood over his low cut and changed direction as he spoke to his best friendÑhis only friend. He knew without question that the early morning call was out of necessity, so his instincts took over and lead him towards Imar's house. He wondered if Imar's mother was home. If she were, his visit would either disturb her sleep or grind her gears. She didn't approve of her son having him for a friend and made no attempts to hide that fact from Imar. She was a classy lady, though, Ace acknowledged that. Miss Graham was nothing but cordial to him when he was around. She offered him juice or breakfast and asked how his family was doing-- to which he always smiled and declined to answer. Afterward, she would give Imar a knowing glance and lecture him about his choice of friends. It was a fifteen-year-old tradition.
His smooth, tan fingers danced on the keypad, dialing Imar as he climbed the front steps that lead to the porch.
"You outside? Its open."
"Nah, come out. I don't want to get her started."
"Its only me and Iverlei here. Stop being a bitch and come inside."
His butter colored construction boots crossed the threshold, meeting the black carpet. The faint scent of jasmine and the lines in the carpet revealed that it had just been vacuumed. The small row home was immaculately clean and modestly decorated. Ace's phone vibrated quickly. Text message.
Upstairs Papi.
He trod the stairs quietly and entered the room in the center of the hall. Sparse plumes of marijuana smoke wafted around the space, eventually trailing towards the open window. Imar stood bare-chested and clad in plaid boxers that peeked over basketball shorts, padding the ash from end of his joint into a glass ashtray. His smooth, caramel skin still glistened with beads of water from the shower. Damp, shoulder-length dreadlocks were held in place by a black elastic band that was almost invisible amongst the neatly wound hair. Imar wrapped his pink lips around the joint and pulled before releasing smoke from his mouth, then sucking it up his nose like a vacuum.
"Smoking before class? You the worst," Ace chided, taking a seat on the neatly made full-sized bed.
"I'm going to a recitation, its not even lecture. I'm high during the lecture sometimes too, though. But yo, I called you over to ask you something serious. You know I wouldn't even fuck with your schedule like that."
Imar peered out of the blinds, a pensive look on his face. He put his hand out, extending the joint.
"I figured."
