The line was silent for a second, which was typical Menace shit. “Happy birthday, Don.” “Thanks, appreciate it.” Silence again. “At twenty-five, I was doing shit I had no business doing. Proud of the man you become…” he cleared his throat, “have become,” he corrected himself. I looked at the phone and walked closer toward the pool. “Mens, you sick?” “You wishing death on me, Don?” I chuckled. “Nah, never that. Just ain’t never heard you sound so choked up, pussy.” He snorted. “Why you hate my son, Don?” “Menace, the fuck you chatting about?” He sighed into the phone, as I sat on the edge of a
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