Page 67 of Tito

“When you’re old and single.” Hap lowered himself into his seat. “Little things bring excitement to your life. This is one of them.”

“I guess we can play with women,” Reggie responded. “I could do that for the sake of your sanity.”

“I like her,” Hap said, directing his comment to me. “She’s a team player.”

“Be careful,” I said. “She’s got a mean streak.”

Hap shifted his eyes to Reggie. “What’s the kid talking about?”

“Probably about me burning my ex’s things.”

“Did you have a celebratory shit can fire?” Hap asked.

Her face contorted. “A what?”

“Did you toss his socks and skivvies in a shit-can and douse ‘em in lighter fluid?”

“Not exactly,” she responded. “A friend and I carried his couch, a lamp, an end table, his clothes, and some ridiculous slippers out to my back yard and burned them.”

“What was wrong with the couch?”

“It was stupid.”

“All couches are stupid,” Hap said. “What made that one dumb enough to burn? Mind explaining that to me?”

“Not at all.” She stood and patted her palms against the backs of her bare thighs. “This part of my legs stuck to it like glue. It was made of fake leather and it was lime green. If I wore shorts, when I stood up, it sounded like someone was ripping Velcro apart. I hated that thing with a passion.”

“Why’d he buy a green plastic couch? He couldn’t afford real leather?”

“It cost almost four grand,” she complained. “He thought it was awesome.”

Hap chuckled. “Probably didn’t sit on the thing bare-legged, did he?”

“Nope.”

“Can’t think for the life of me why anyone would need a lime green plastic sofa.” Hap rubbed his head with the tips of his fingers. “Was he a weirdo?”

Reggie took a gulp of beer and handed Braxton the empty bottle. Braxton twisted the cap from a fresh one and handed it to her.

“He preferred banana hammock underwear to boxers or briefs,” Reggie replied. “He wore furry slippers in public and fucked nasty strippers in the parking lot of the strip club—in his car. I’ll let you decide.”

“Was he hung like a mule?”

Reggie extended her index finger and gave it a thorough inspection. “His dick and my index finger had a lot in common.”

Midway through a drink, Braxton coughed out a laugh, spitting beer off the porch in the process.

“Son-of-a-bitch.” He pinched his nostrils closed. “That shit came out my nose.”

“If a man isn’t hung like a horse, he ought not be wearing a banana hammock,” Hap said. “And who in the hell wears fuzzy slippers in public?”

“Pffft.” Reggie scoffed. “They were Gucci’s and they cost a thousand dollars.”

“Jesus jumped up Christ,” Hap bellowed. “A grand for a pair of slippers? Did this guy shit money?”

Reggie shook her head. “They were a gift. I bought them.”

Hap scowled. “I’m beginning to wonder about your sanity, little girl.”