"Anybody can speak the truth. You don't need a degree to write a book like this." Lela flipped through and read a few more passages out loud.
"Keep that ghetto shit to yourself, then. I ain't trying to hear you read off a checklist for sistas, who look for Mr. Right at every Happy Hour and Cabaret. You can limit your chances of meeting these wack dudes by doing something out of the ordinary. Try going to a reading or an art exhibit." Chris was getting ready to put his headsets on to drown out Lela with MF Doom's Vaudeville Villain album. At 6' 3", he had a commanding presence when he entered the suite despite his position as clerical officer. His laidback demeanor was often mistaken for laziness and his cool temperament for being timid.
Why was he the only guy in that workspace? Chris wondered. He hated that Lela tried to make him a source for everything she wanted to know about guys. He was only one man, who could only speak about what he liked and disliked. Chris couldn't stand any guy who would try to speak on behalf of every man. That's why he never liked Terrance Mason and his syndicated radio talk show. "The guy's divorced and he's giving relationship advice," he thought. He despised Terrance's sold out plays "Why Men Walk in the Dark" and "Disarming Shango."
Chris had considered getting with Lela when she started working in the office, but quickly dismissed that idea. They were from two different eras despite the fact that she was a few years younger than him. He was from an era where developing craft was the most important thing an emcee can do. Storytellers like Ghostface, MF Doom, Pharoahe Monch and others were legends that people of his era worshipped and saw as the torchbearers for true lyricism. Lela was of the Laffy Taffy era. The era of the Chicken Noodle soup. "Great. Dances that sound like entrees. What's next?" He wondered. "The Italian Wedding? The Cheese and Broccoli?"
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