Russell's stoned, I thought, awed. I never knew he partied. It was hella greatness seeing him high. "Come on in boy. Ain't often I get visitors who ain't trying to save my ass." As I entered Russell's hand flew up against my chest. "You ain't trying to save my ass, is ya?"
"Hell no," I said.
"That's good, Cause I'd rather laugh with the saints, than cry with the sinners."
"I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints," I corrected.
"You wouldn't be busting a blind man's stones now, would ya?"
"Absolutely not."
"I'll take you word for it," he coughed.
"Actually, I was hoping you could save my ass."
"Now that's a different story. Take a seat boy." He motioned for me to sit on his couch. Calling it a couch was generous - it's legs were gone and chunks of cushions missing. Like its owner, it had seen better days. The couch, like a three legged dog with bad breath, was one only its owner could love. In front of the couch sat a coffee table, it's top littered with roaches - the joint kind - cigar butts, ashes and beer cans in various stages of use. A candle burned in the middle of the table. "Tell me boy, how can I save yo ass?" Russell sanded, his voice contaminated with sawdust.
"Well I, um, got, um, I knocked someone up."
He scowled. If his eyes could see they would have burned a hole in me. His hand tensed on his cane. "It ain't my little butterfly now, is it?" he asked. His cane rose off the floor.
"No!"
"Good. I wouldn't want to beat you senseless with my cane here," he said. Russell stroked the cane like a golfer his favorite club. "We wouldn't want anything bad happenin' to our Ms. Shannie now, would we?"
"No sir." I intoned.
"I'm glad we see eye to eye." Russell fell into another chorus of coughs. "Gotta change my brand," he said pounding a fist against his chest.
"Yeah you should."
"You didn't come here to discuss my health now, did you?" The old man asked.
"No sir, I didn't."
"Good. Now, who is she?"
"Who is whom?" I asked absentmindedly.
Leaning forward in his seat, Russell said: "Cut the shit Junior. You came to me with a problem. If you want my help, you've gotta tell me who's your problem, or you can walk yo ass right out that door and let me be. Them the rules, you don't like 'em, lump 'em."