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  • Recollections of Grandpa Bob

Grand Junction, Colorado. March 14, 2015

 

            The following half of a telephone conversation breached my privacy stall:

 

“When I got to Las Vegas I moved in with the dude I was workin’ for. I didn’t know anybody when I got there so we hung out some. One night I get home and there’s two bithches waiting for us. He goes off with one, and me with the other. I wake up in the mornin’ and seven hundred dollars is missing from my wallet. That was on me – I know better than that, should have seen that coming. I know bitches like that back home, ‘noam sayin’?

I hope I don’t see her again, Vegas is a small place really, like three burroughs, but I hope I don’t see her again, ‘noam sayin’? I got a little girl myself, but the way some those bitches act I’d crack her skull if I come across her.

So I ask her to move me down a few doors. I’m thinkin’ a tellin’ him when he gets feelin’ that way to come knock on my door and we’ll go have a few beers, ‘noam sayin’? On me.

But you can’t talk to a nigga when he’s like that, ‘noam sayin’, they get all tyrannical and shit, don’t know when to stop.

I asked her to move me down a few doors, the pictures on my walls be rattling against the wall. She’s a shade or two, maybe more, darker than me. You can tell. Throws her against the wall. He can come knock on my door any time, we can go have a few beers, ‘noam sayin’?

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