Tina and I were shooting pool at the Hexagon. We went there because of the two bars with pool tables in my Minneapolis neighborhood, the Hex was the only one that served hard liquor. The Cardinal was limited to beer and wine. I didn't drink, but Tina still loved her whiskey.
There were two fairly muscular black men shooting a game or two at the table next to ours. They were dressed to go out, with overly-ornate, tight-fitted button-up urban shirts and colorfully embroidered jeans. Neither could form a sentence without at least two profanities and usually, at least one was the N-Word.
"I'd kind of like to play with those two," Tina told me, conspiratorially.
I didn't even want to be noticed by them. I glanced sidelong and shook my head.
They had Tina's attention for the better part of the night. It was getting late and we debated on whether to play one more game or head for home. We decided to step out for a smoke. It was chilly, so we put on our coats and started moving towards the patio door.
Our boisterous neighbors were discussing a missed shot and what the fuck the "nigga" who was shooting should have done to sink that bitch, if he knew what his partner was saying, that is.
A damnably familiar look of mischief stole Tina's face and she broke sharply left, darting away from me and towards the back wall behind the pool tables. I didn't have time to react beyond cringing. Shoulders slumped forward to lower her profile in a caricature of stealth, she rounded the second table and came up behind the guy who'd assumed the role of instructor. He was unaware of her approach until she lifted one leg and began to repeatedly bump her crotch into his butt, saying "maybe it would have worked better if he'd done it like this."
Read the rest at the new Dan and Tina.net.
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