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Hell, I've followed the dog this far and I might as well keep going so I haul ass up the ramp and stop beside the damn yippee dog and question, "Okay what the fuck am I supposed to do now?"As if the little dog knows what I'm asking, she starts barking then jumps against some barrels. What the fuck is she doing? I figure out what she's trying to tell me so I tip one of the barrels over, determine it's empty, then I push it down the red ramp. It creates a hell of a noise as the barrel accelerates at a tremendous rate of speed! Unfortunately the barrels don't stop the mongrel herd of fat cows; they run around them or jump over them and all it does is piss them off even more. Damn something about this seems familiar to me...I've depleted the supply of empty barrels so I look at the dog and question, "Well that didn't work. Do you have any other great ideas?" The little dog barks, jumps on a box, then over to a higher box and finally up to the next red ramp where she hauls ass up the. ” Her arms were folded, and her foot was tapping on the floor as she looked at me and said with a stern look on her face, “I’m Carol’s mother, Susan. And am not very happy with my bitch of a daughter, and am going to wreak revenge on her.” I was totally lost, I asked, “Revenge, I don’t know what you mean revenge, revenge for what and how?” Susan still tapping her foot on the wooden floor, she looked quizzical as she thought to herself, then she said, “So you’ve been fucking Carol for two weeks, she must like you, usually they never last more than a couple of days with her.” Then everything went silent, neither of us spoke a word, just the tapping sound from Susan’s shoes as she now paced up and down besides the bed. I thought I should get up and put some clothes on, so tried to slide to the other side of the bed. Susan’s pacing got her back up to besides me. She said, “And where do you think you’re going?” I daren’t look up at her, as I stammered, “I, I thought I’d, I’d, get.
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You are -- oh, you're sixteen tonight. And I'm a little older. Eighteen, maybe. A real man of the world." My parents wouldn't have allowed me to go out alone with a boy when I was sixteen. And certainly not with an eighteen-year-old boy." Probably they wouldn't have been too thrilled about my being Black, either." Maybe not. I don't think they were bigots, but they were extremely old-fashioned. Still, you could have been the very-white boy next door that they had watched growing up for the past decade, and it wouldn't have made any difference." You had a deprived childhood," I told her. "We're going to pretend that your folks were a little more like -- well, like mine were. If you had been their daughter, they would have been a bit nervous, maybe, about your going out on a date -- with a boy who had his own car, no less -- but they'd have let you do it, after a half-hour or so of warnings and reminders, and maybe a few dire threats." A boy with his own Jaguar, no less!" No, no. This.

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