Responses

Jay was having a rough day. First laundry day post-breakup, and the hot water wash had been half gym tees and half Kim's unmentionables. Burying his head in the dryer to mop up tears was perhaps his lowest point. "I'm a man, dammit," he said out loud, voice obscured by Egyptian cotton and Victoria Secret-brand lace.

Bad to worse: busting out with "Yo it's 2014, man, give a brother a break," to a cop was maybe the worst idea he'd had in months. Driving while black? Driving while sad? Why was he even bothering to drive Kim's clothes back to her?

Insult to injury: 10:00 am on a Saturday morning and Kim was at the spa getting her nails did. Her new Harvard boyfriend answered the door and graciously accepted her underthings, giving Jay a firm handshake only a whiteboy could have taught him.

Arriving at the court for ball should have made him feel better, but the weight on his heart only grew when his boys asked him how he was doing, pity evident on their faces. They knew about Harvard, then.

"Yo, I got problems, son," he said, in a show of bravado, trying a layup. It hit the rim and bounced unenthusiastically back toward him. "But I ain't got to worry about no bitches."

WTF did I just read?