by Brandon E. Knight

Created on: October 11, 2010

As he sat down across the table from me and painstakingly positioned himself in such an awkward position that you could almost count the seconds until his knees collapsed, I couldn’t help but wonder; who was this man? What in the world could he want from me?
He obviously wasn’t a lawyer, as he could barely pass for 22, with short twists in his hair that said ‘I’m from the hood’ yet dressed in a navy pinstripe suit clearly from some sort of warehouse, paired with unpolished black loafers and a courier type bag one could almost mistake for a knapsack.

What did he say his name was again? It had been so long since I have had a visitor of any sort that I was still in shock when he protruded his hand as if to shake mine, and whatever name he had called himself had long been lost in the maze that was my thoughts at that moment.
I must admit however that although at first glance this brotha seems a bit sloppy and unprofessional, upon closer examination he does seem to produce an almost sensual sort of vibe, a very strong energy of seriousness and sex appeal, with an obviously toned body hiding beneath his well fitted garments, and gold designer frames rested high on his chiseled, masculine nose; a perfect accent to the golden, honey-hazel in his piercing eyes. Oh, even after all these years and bad experiences, the “red boned” and “high yella” men still stir up such a passion within me. But the clang of the final lock in the big metal door behind me snapped  my mind back to the question at hand: Who the hell is he?
“Mr. Washington, I’d like to thank you again for agreeing to meet with me.” He spoke again, and this time, I heard him.
“Well, seeing where I am, I didn’t really have much of a choice, now did I”? I said, my eyes shifting nervously back and forth between the stranger in front of me, and the armed corrections officer that was watching us from his post beside the only door in this tiny, concrete room, “And I’m sorry, but what did you say your name was again?”
Again he reached out his hand as if he actually expected me to shake it, but I’m no fool, so I just looked at his as if to say ‘you know better,’ and he quickly placed his hand nervously back in front of him where it belonged. He cleared his throat and began to speak. “Mr. Washington, my name is Edward McCullough,  and I am a law student over at Tulane University, and

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