Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2011 Totsymae.

This bitch stalking me again.

Where U @? I ain’t playin witchu. B’leve that, punk!!! was one of thirty text messages blowing up my cell.

By the time I get to Reynoldstown Station from the Park n’ Ride, I see I’ve got five voicemails along with the texts. Damn! It don’t take but five minutes to get there. Talk about a bitch with some skills but she wanna use them all on me. Got me on this train sweating and my heart banging the hell outta my chest. I’m a man trying to get to work and my nerves working harder than I ever did on any job on account of this crazy ass I hooked up with from clickafreak.com.

Yeah, I know that should’ve been a sign but you know boys will be boys will be motherfucking boys and Wanda was making me wait ‘til the wedding night, like four weeks of no screwing was gonna make her virgin-like.

What the fuck, is all I think when my phone gets to vibrating in my pocket. Then, my head starts whipping around left to right and back again, at every train stop. You could say it served my ass right for internet whoring, when in fact, I already asked my girl to marry me.

Like, so what if I’m on three different sites. I’m a single man and trying to sow the last of my oats. Nothing’s wrong in putting it out there with protection. And hell, she admitted to being on a few herself. I didn’t think no more about it. Said she wanted to take shit slow anyway but now that I think about it, ain’t no woman who ever says that mean it. That’s just a way they pull you in. One day, we’re playing dominoes and joking around, then a week into it, she’s jumped her ass to my side of the table and shoving a titty down my throat. Me being partial to titties, where else could we take it from there?

I’m all in the moment, enjoying being inside her and this bitch winds up writing my name on the walls of her, ahem…

I get up the next morning and she’s got a toothbrush, with the toothpaste spread out all smooth and shit. Newspaper’s at the breakfast table. Kitchen’s smelling like bacon and coffee and even though it’s my plan to leave straight out, I can’t dip on her like that.

Okay. I sit down to eat and the shit’s actually as good as it looks. I’m trippin’ to myself ‘cause I ain’t used to no woman who cooks without me asking her what we’re gonna eat and her not moaning and bitching, talking about equal rights and shit.

“You have reached Little Five Points Station. Please, wait for the train to come to a complete stop before…”

“I sd, where U @ U sorry bastard. O, um waitn @ yo stop n we settlin this,” is the next message.

I get to looking every which way ‘cause my stop’s next. I got a meeting I can’t miss and now, I’m hung up with this psychotic bitch. I’ll be damn if I got time for this shit!

“You have reached Peachtree Center Station. Please, wait…”

I stand up and see I’ve got ten minutes to get in the office to pull my shit together. I try to hide in the crowd but everybody scatters in different directions. Then, she calls me.

“Tariq, I see your sorry ass.”

I cringe and when my boy, from the eleventh floor, looks back grinning from her to me, I make a dash for the stairs and damn if I don’t hear her firing up that motorcycle behind me. Who knew a cougar had this kind of get up and go about her? Got me running through morning rush hour with my briefcase under my arm, people splitting the sidewalk like the Red Sea when they see me making it toward them and goddamn, she’s so close now, I can feel her laughing through my back.