The next day, I had to go to the market and buy some groceries. When you
live with three men, the food seems to vanish very quickly. I'd probably have to
make several trips to the market a week, at the rate they were going. I was
only two blocks away from the apartment when suddenly one of the bags
ripped at the bottom and everything tumbled onto the sidewalk creating a
huge mess. I sighed; this was not my day.

I started placing the things that had spilled into the other two bags when someone
came up and started helping. The stranger picked up one of my bags for me and
offered to carry it for me. We walked back to the apartment and went inside.

"Would you like some lemonade," I offered.

"Sure, if it's no trouble." He replied.

I smiled. "No problem at all, I just made some this morning."
I came back in the living room and we chatted for awhile. He had asked
me how long I'd been in New York and where I was from, since I still
had a little bit of an accent. He was just about to leave, when Morris
came in.

The boys stared at each other, for what seemed like an eternity, until
Morris finally spoke. "What do ya think you're doing?"

"I'se was helping her carry the bags for her and was just on me
way out," he replied glaring at Morris. "Tanks for the lemonade," he
said shutting the door on his way out.

I turned towards Morris. "What was that all about?" I asked angrily.
"That boy was just helping me carry the groceries, which happen to be for you
three pigs."

"Hey, I ain't no pig."

I snickered; "well you sure eat like one."

He mumbled something I couldn't hear.

I walked over to him. "You still didn't answer my question."

"We don't hang around with street rats and you won't either."

I glared at him, no one told me who and whom I couldn't be with.
"You're not...." I started, but he grabbed my arms tightly not letting
me finish.
"Didn't you just hear what I said; we are better than those street rats, and as
long as you live here, you aren't going to go flaunting yourself around them.
Understand?" His voice went up an octave.

He left the apartment, slamming the door behind him, "what was that all
about?"