It was another one night stand and instead of the usually walk of shame I got a breezy UberPool ride in forty minute traffic. Rule number nine from the Hoe Chronicles, be your own ride. That night, Atlanta’s skyline shined brighter than any other night. My head hung on the rim of the window looking up just mesmerized by it. “So where are you coming from,” the driver asks over Future’s auto tuned vocals blasting from the radio. “I’m heading home that’s all that matters,” I replied. I always give that answer. I do not know what about me attracts drivers to ask me that. It’s almost like they were in the room when I was riding these guys or teasing them as I took off my clothes. The Grady curve was not moving so my “valley girl, wind in my hair” fantasy faster than I thought. “Hey, someone is really blowing your line up,” a random voice said. “Nah, it’s fine,” I replied and waved my hand back a whoever that was bothering me. Rule number fourteen from the Hoe Chronicles, let no person ruin your happiness after sex.
…show more content…
I grabbed my bookbag, hopped out of the car, and turned around to close the door and see a guy sitting in the car. “Wow, you were in the car the entire time?” “Yeah, but you had your ass in my face the entire time,” the dark skin brother in a maroon Morehouse jacket barked. “Fuck you nigga. You clearly didn’t have a problem with the view.” The guy picked up my phone and threw it out of the window. “There you go hoe, another nigga asking you to come over,” he said as the car drove away. 9 new messages, a couple Jack’d and Scruff but one from a number that looks too familiar. “Hey man, I really enjoyed you. I saw something in you that I was special. I would like to see you again,” the text read. “Wow Jason, you did that,” I said to something as I sat on a
I grabbed my bookbag, hopped out of the car, and turned around to close the door and see a guy sitting in the car. “Wow, you were in the car the entire time?” “Yeah, but you had your ass in my face the entire time,” the dark skin brother in a maroon Morehouse jacket barked. “Fuck you nigga. You clearly didn’t have a problem with the view.” The guy picked up my phone and threw it out of the window. “There you go hoe, another nigga asking you to come over,” he said as the car drove away. 9 new messages, a couple Jack’d and Scruff but one from a number that looks too familiar. “Hey man, I really enjoyed you. I saw something in you that I was special. I would like to see you again,” the text read. “Wow Jason, you did that,” I said to something as I sat on a