Nakia D. Johnson

i write.  therefore i am.


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Uptempo
Nakia D. Johnson

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"Look, B," he said.  "All I'm trying to say is don't sweat it...You partook.  No crime in that."

"I'm just feeling guilty, Tone,  now that it's all said and done, you know.  Kendall doesn't deserve that."

"You know what, B?  I'll give you that.  Kendall's good people.  Even I think she's good for you.  She's good for you, you're good for her, and all that other happy-go-lucky-good-karma-good-energy sh*t that people get paid to preach these days.  To me, it's all bullsh*t that I don't have time for."  He paused and looked out the window.  "But we're not talking about me, are we?"

I offered silence to the rhetorical question.

Tony went on with his soliloquy.  "Anyway, B, point is Kendall is one thousand miles away right now, and what Kendall doesn't know won't hurt her."

We pulled into the parking lot of the gym and Tony killed the engine.  I twisted all six feet, four-and-a-half inches of my body out of the sardine can and grabbed my gym bag, appreciative of my exodus from bondage.

Then, like a fool, I said, "You know what, Tony, I think you're right."

Little did I know, we were both wrong.