“Compartmentalizing Inside of The Container Store/Nobody Eats at Brunch”

“It could just be that – I remember saying to Jennifer.”

“So, how did she take it?”

“You know, her usual way.”

“Ah, shit, what does that mean, Gerald?” My best man in-waiting gave that wide smile of his, kissing his teeth.

“Don’t start that shit, bro – you know how it goes.”

“Exactly, G, and you know she’s playing. It’s about control, nigga, we been pegged that.”

“It’s sociopathic, for real. But damn, she does it well.”

“Compartmentalize, nigga,” Unc D using terms like that so fluidly and without a stumble, gave me Clifford Harris vibes. They stood around the same height, same build; the same kid-like exuberance bubbling inside that you could see just begging to burst out at any given moment. “I told you, stop letting her get you in bed, bro. She can compartmentalize that shit – you can’t.”

“So whatchu saying? You think I’m a sucker for love ass nigga?”

“Yeah, Tupac. Or Nas.”

“They were both players,” I contend, now defending my manhood. Whatchu mean, I’m a sucker for love? And her ringtone is ‘circles,’ which Unc D has heard a thousand times – he laughs and shakes a finger at me.