Even if had shot the pretty boy in the head, it wouldn't have changed his prediction ... or the reality. Another August afternoon, another 115 degrees. The situation don't mean nothing to him. The weather boy is cruising around in his brand new Lexus. I've got to run game in this old piece of shit on wheels.

To make things worse, I don't even have an air conditioner that works half a damn. Well let's see, it's 3:00 now, I can probably get home before the temp reaches it's peak at around 4:00 if I hurry.

Hell, I should be the one who is working now, what kinda CRAZY shit is this? Just as hard to get a job here as was in that Rustbowl I just left called Buffalo, New York. I thought Phoenix was gonna be the joint, who am I kidding, same crap from coast to coast. East Coast vs West Coast my ass ... the Blackman ain't gonna get right till he reclaims the Ivory Coast.

I hate this garbage, I just dropped off my poor wife to work a 12 hour shift at a fast food farthole ... and here I am. College degree, know computers, clean criminal background and still can't find a job? White folks should be ashamed of themselves. I can imagine what other brothers with even less going on skills-wise are going through.

Damn, it's so hot, maybe I should turn on the air conditioner. Maybe not. Yesterday I turned it on and the stupid car stopped. It started right back up again but it was a little scary. I'll be home in a few, this bottle of ice water should keep me cool till then.

I wonder what is wrong with this sad excuse for a Pontiac. Whatever it is, it's gotta wait to get fixed, I'm as broke as a pidgeon-toed ho'. My poor wife will probably have to pick up the tab, I hate this shit.

In the distance. the cars are a little blurry from the waves of heat rising from the ground. It makes the tall truck up ahead look like it's doing a belly dance on the highway. The mountains look like perfectly shaped mounds from this far away as I approach them at 70 mph. Even in

a fucked up car, I like to drive fast. Even at this speed, in Phoenix people will be passing you.

A beautiful Mexican lady passes me in her pink Suzuki Samurai. All her windows are down and her long dark hair flies behind her like a severely shredded black flag.

A huge, brand-new Dodge truck full of teenage Native Americans pulls up close to me. The speakers are blasting a familiar song, it is Bob Marley's "Buffalo Soldier". Here in Phoenix, Native Americans are

as down with reggae as any Kingston transplant. I look over and see a lone bumper sticker on the immaculate vehicle. It advertises "Apache Gold Resort and Casino".

Well it's good to see at least the Native Americans are getting paid. Those casinos are pulling them out of poverty faster than a greasy rocket and I feel good for them. When is it gonna be the Blackman's turn to get reparations or some kind of economic help? Somebody tell me when! Hell, we can do casinos too. Shit, give us stripper clubs, massage parlors … SOMETHING!

Oh momma look at this naked thing. It’s ‘Country Club Barbie’, driving around in her tricked out Jeep with all her meat hanging out ... yes indeed. I could take all the clothing she has on right now, tie it together, and barely have enough to make a decent headband.

Micro-mini skirt and a braless halter top, good lawd. She can get away with it because she's fine for a Blonde, I guess, and it's hot as hell. Actually Caucasian ladies aren't my cup of tea. I ain't prejudiced, but, there is nothing more beautiful to me than a naked, dark-skinned, round-the-way-girl.

How come when white women are half-naked like her they are sexy, when Black women are like that, society says they are whores or savages? It's all bullshit, that's why.

Traffic is slowing down, what's up? Great, poor fucker with a broke down car. You have my sympathy dude. Bad day to have your wheels take a shit. I'd love to stop and help you but I'm in a bit of a hurry. Sorry man, see ya ... wouldn't want to be ya.

I'm headed to turn my life around, finally. This place I'm going, The Black Writer's Guild, might be my ticket out of this poverty crap. Yeah, emancipation time baby. I'm done begging some asshole klansmen for a job. I'm gonna make my own job damnit! I've always dreamed

of writing a movie like Spike Lee or maybe a book like Walter Mosely, I hope that they can help me.

We've got that speaker from the publishing house schooling us today. Maybe I'll get there early and pump homey for info. You know, I think I'll show him that story I wrote about the blizzard, I like that one. I could use a few of those frozen flakes right about now. Just rolling

down the windows ain't helping much today. Maybe I should try to run the A/C. Naw, I better not, don't want to risk it. I'll turn on the radio instead.

Yeah, I like this jam, we were dancing to this at the club back in the day. "Hey Mis-ta Dee-jay ... alright, alright ... everybody wants to Par-tay ..." (starts rocking the neck and jamming from the shoulders while driving). Yeah baby, we was breaking it down. Oh boy, now I'm

even sweatier than I was before, just from groovin' in my seat. I guess it would be okay to turn on the A/C for just a little while, right?

(CLICK … POP … STOP!)

Oh, Oh, ... NO NO ... OH SHIT ... GOD, PLEASE HELP ME OUT HERE ... OH MAN ... THIS FUCKER IS DEAD ... DAMN CAR ...

Better flick on the hazards and try to coast over to the slow lane, good thing I'm going downhill. Whew, that asshole in the Mitsubishi almost hit me. Another reason to boycott that company, they sell cars to RUDE, jerk offs.

Just one more lane ... alright, thank you God. At least I'm on the shoulder now. Guess I'll see just how far I can roll it. Damn, it doesn't look like I'll make it to the off ramp.

Blinding dust clouds fly into the air as the dirt and sand on the shoulder are disturbed. Great. I come to a stop directly in between both ramps. Out in the middle of no where. What a lucky guy.

Finally I start to recuperate from the drama. The adrenaline is flowing like a whitewater river ride. I'm breathing heavy and trying to shake the shakes. I'm alive but I'm not safe yet. I try to stuff down some more deep breaths.

There, ahhhh, that's better. Now to think of a strategy to get out of here. Hmm, maybe this bitch-ass car will start back up, let's see ... no luck, dead as a Lawrence Welk special.

Plan B, Maybe I can walk to a phone and call AAA for a tow. The highway is elevated, I can see quite a distance but nothing is in sight but the baked floor of the desert. A phone, hey, I bet I could just stay with the car and some of these rich people with cell phones will see me

and give the cops a call.

After the cops get here, I can get a tow and out from under this merciless sun. The sun in Africa ain't even this bad.

Bet. that's the plan. I'll just chill, ... or should I say broil, for a while. Some do-gooder will help me out and boost their Karma index anytime now ... no problem.

LATER

I think I have a problem. A big, big, big, problem. It's fucking 4:15 now and I'm still sitting here waiting for help. What the fuck is up with these people? These folks are supposed to be Christian and never heard of the Good Samaritan?

My hood has been up for the last hour, I would think that is a good clue to my distress. If that escapes them, I'm even waving around the inside of my windshield's sunvisor that reads 'NEED HELP -- CALL POLICE'. What do I need, a neon sign hanging out of my ass?

The ones that get the biggest laugh from the sign are cops themselves. At least five squad cars passed right by me, that's some cold-blooded shit. If I was a white woman I would have been home, showered and watching 'Sex in the City' reruns by now. I think I understand why Dennis Rodman dresses like Peggy Sue now.

Speaking of women, look at the tits on this one in the convertible Miata. Damn baby, why don't you rescue me by slinging one of them big titties this way. I'd be a milk drinking motherfucker for the rest of the month. Ha ha, dive in that juicy butt like a swimming pool, do

the backstroke till I catch a crotch cramp.

Oh well, no titty milk on the menu today, I'm glad that I brought ice water. Well it used to be ice water. At least it's still wet, but the ice is long gone ... not too much left either.

Come on people, I wanna go home. OUCH .. touched that damn metal again, shit, man does that burn. Every piece of steel or chrome on this car is about one stage away from glowing red hot.

Jeez, that fool needs to cool it with that noisy ass VW bug. He's got the engine exposed and the exhaust pipe sticking straight up into the air. I don't think he can make it louder unless he gets a mic and a PA system. That's a white boy thing, all that loud shit, tell me, what's the purpose?

Here comes another loud fucker, he's on a Harley and he looks like the psycho son of a motorcycle slut. The whole earth shakes when this asshole goes by, my eardrums included.

Do they like the feeling of power and destruction or do white women think deaf guys who bleed from the ear canal are sexy?

Here comes another white guy thing ... those big extended monster trucks with the extra wheels on the back axle. 'BIG FOOT'is for little kids motherfucker, grow up. Only good part about those trucks is when a girl in a dress tries to get in on the passenger side and you give her a boost, hey hey, nice view man.

Finally, here comes a brother ... there goes a brother. I know that he saw me, maybe he will call for help, maybe he won't. One of the worst parts of the Blackman's situation in America is that we let society split us up so we don't trust each other and can't pull together.

That's the main reason that we still suffer and other ethnic groups prosper, unity. We have to make that legacy of lunacy disappear and we will make it disappear, we have that power.

I cannot believe this heat, it feels like my brains are getting char-broiled. Each time a car goes by, I feel that dry desert breeze, it feels like hair dryer on full power that is just inches from my

face. The dust from the road sticks to my sweaty skin.

Even after I drink my room temperature ice water, my mouth is still dry. Of course my mouth is the only dry thing on my entire body. Everything else is sweat soaked.

Buckets of sweat, tubs of sweat, oil tankers of sweat ooze out of my pores and covers me. A solar baptismal in front of a congregation of cactus, that could care less.

I watch as three beads of sweat race down my chest towards my belly button. The one I nicknamed Edwin Moses beat out Michael Johnson by a mile but barely eased past Carl Lewis.

The stain under my armpit reaches from my elbow, around to my asshole. My shoulders and back are pretty much submerged under a layer of wet slimy stuff. The oily fluid makes my ass slippery on the vinyl, I mean leather, seats. My balls feel like they are floating in liquid Crisco

after being marinated in Quaker State 10w40.

Oh great, not only is the water in my bottle hot, but there is only about two sips left. This just won't do. I remember hearing stories of people who drank their own piss to stay alive, uh-uh, not the kid. I'll just have to go ahead and die in this bitch today, I don't play the urine game.

The blanket of heat surges from the pavement and makes the optical illusion of waves on it's surface even stronger. I look away to see something even worse. At first I think the large birds look cool as they glide in the sky. I finally realize that these birds are vultures.

What, how corny, please, Buzzards? I hope your asses ain't planning on me becoming your supper, think again fool. Land down here and I'll do a Col. Sanders on that ass, I ain't joking. You'll be extra crispy, deep fried and laid to the side when I'm done.

Ahhrwgg ... fucking sweat in my eyes, damn that hurts. It's so salty, I have to blink like crazy to get this blurrines out of my vision. I’ll just try to rest … for a while … yeah …

(Sound of a car stopping is heard)

What ... what is that ... oh shit, someone stopped, THANK YOU GOD, THANK YOU. I'll be good for now on, well, I'll try harder anyway.

The jet black 1976 Cadillac is parked on the side of the unpaved deserted access road that is about 100 yards downhill from my position. The big, black machine is in mint condition and immaculate. It glows in the blinding sun.

I'm anxious to see the homey that took time from his day to give me a hand but the windows are darkly tinted. The door finally swings open I am slightly stunned, the driver is a Black woman.

Not just any Black woman, this sister is so beautiful she could easily be the finest lady I've ever seen. Her smile, so bright and so comforting. Her body, tight, but round in the right places. Her skin, very dark, and each drop of uncut melanin that gives her flavor, is worshipped by me.

The more I study her, the more she looks like cutie that sings for 'The Fugees" ... only finer y'all, if that's possible.

Well, well ... a double chocolate Fugee with a jamocha-fudge topping, um-um-ummm. Too good to be true.

She starts walking up the cactus and sagebrush covered hill towards my car. I slide across my car seat and rush out to meet her. She sort of looks like Thelma on 'Good Times' by the clothes that she is wearing, but hey, that's cool. We can work out the clothes situation, hook you up nice baby. Probably one of those 'country' Black folks that were raised in Phoenix all their lives, poor thing.

I start working on a clever line to open with, then I remember, my balls smell like a dead rat's rotted ass in a pile of spoiled eggs. I back away and sit back down so that she doesn't get a whiff and run back to the car, screaming, with her nose on fire.

I let Fugee speak first. She tells me that he saw me on the highway and then took the nearest ramp and doubled back.

That's a lot of trouble to go to for a stranger, girlfriend is pretty cool. I thank her sincerely and feel a bit humbled by her kindness

and warmth. I want to rap, but I'm speechless, even worse, I'm married.

She probably has about 20 brothers lined up and on a leash back in the valley anyway, I better leave that alone. She dials up AAA on her portable cell phone. I can finally exhale now, I've been rescued.

I close my eyes for what seems like a microsecond to give thanks to the Father. Next thing I notice is a big dusty tow truck, and a fat white guy with the crack of his ass hanging out of his pants. I look around for homegirl, she is nowhere to be found.

I go over and wait in the air-conditioned tow truck while Mr. Ass-crack hooks up my crippled car.

Thinking about Fugee and how she strolled up the mountainside all sexy

and shit got me smiling. Damn, I didn't even get her real name. I glance over to where that bad ass Caddy was ... what the?

The access road, it's gone. Straight up overgrown with cactus, sagebrush, and the rest of that wild shits. Hold up, I ain't trippin' ... BUT WHAT'S UP???

Out of the corner of my eye I see Mr. Ass-crack watching me freak, I better cool it.

Mr. Ass-crack gets in and we start-off. Says his name is Jed (Clampett I presume) and tells me his family has been in Arizona since the good old days of L.B.J.(El B.J., I always liked that name).

I intro myself to Jed and bullshit about the heat for a minute, but then, I can hold it no longer.

"Tell me about that access road, Jed."

He gets a strange look on his face, silence for what felt like a longtime. He tells me it's been closed for about twenty years now. Said he used to use it all the time growing up, till they found a body there one day. I froze.

Just then a call comes through on dispatch for him, then another, then another. Jed never does finish the story, and maybe, I don't really want to know the story.

As far as I'm concerned, that was my angel. My own beautiful Black Angel, the Essence of Eve and the Mother of Creation ...

Thank You Sister. I will pay you back by glorifying your name one day, that's a bet.