The Return of George

Man, my shot sure burned this morning. I think I have finally figured out why. Sometimes I can’t even feel it. Today, they called me back from the lobby almost as soon as I had signed in and sat down. I had just gotten the shot out of the refrigerator at my father’s pharmacy. The nurse remarked how cold it was but she injected it into my butt anyways. It needs to come up to room temperature before being injected thus the extreme burning.

After that ordeal was over, I proceeded to take my daily hike. The last leg of my jaunt usually brings me by the grocery store. I saw George’s dilapidated Dodge Diplomat sitting out in front of the Pig. It was good to see him as I haven’t seen him for days. I was starting to wonder if he had gotten another driving under the influence charge and was in jail.

George had brought a cohort to the grocery store in exchange for some money. He was sitting in his car in the no parking zone, smoking a cigar, and waiting for them to return. He saw me and motioned for me to come over. I walked over and leaned in towards his open window.

“Get dis brotha a beer,” George whispered.

“George, ain’t it kinda early to be drinking beer?” I asked quietly.

“It be da breakfast of champions!” George said excitedly with a huge toothy grin on his face.

I guess one beer wouldn’t hurt as he seemed completely sober.

I walked inside the store and bought a Gatorade and a Milwaukee’s Best Ice beer. I then got in the passenger’s side of George’s car and sat down. I handed George the paper bag with the beer in it. George cracked it open and proceeded to guzzle it down after looking around to make sure there weren’t any police in view.

“Why yo ass keep scratchin’?” George asked. “You got da cooties or somethin’?”

“I went camping last night and got eaten alive by some kind of bug,” I replied.

“Man, I don’t see why you white crackas want to go sit out in the woods,” George said. “You sho wouldn’t catch no nigga out in the woods at night.”

I laughed.

“George, surely some black people go camping,” I said.

“When was the last time yo ass saw a nigga in a tent?” George asked.

I sat there trying to recollect seeing black people camping. I couldn’t think of any.

“See?” George replied. “Like I said, you ain’t gonna see any niggas out in the middle of the woods unless dey be runnin’ from the police.”

I let out a hearty chuckle.

“Well, man,” I said. “I am gonna head to the house.”

“Stay cool, my brotha. Stay cool,” George said.

I walked on home before the heat of the day hit. It was good to see George alive and well and still going strong.