Living Monologues | Sweet Missy Mae
Photo by Matheus Natan from Pexels
This monologue is pure fiction and part of my ongoing Living Monologues Series that explores who we are beneath our words.
I don’t care who you is, baby. I don’t care to know a sliver of a thing about you. All Missy Mae need to know is that your money is green and you a man. Money is good for all the things I like. And a man is a man is a man. From here to Chattanooga, Tennessee.
You think because them wingtips 'a yours shine like moonshine that you different from all these other cottonmouths crawling up behind us every night? No, baby. The side ‘a the tracks don’t matter, y’all all slither the same. On your belly. On your side. On your back. Hell, the top ‘a your head if Missy Mae got any say. You went out your way, ain’t you? Crossed through the alley on Lincoln between the abandoned building and Porter’s Hardware, didn’t you?
And why’d you do it? I’ll tell you why you did it. You did it because Madame Kay’s girls the finest around. We ain’t got nothin’ nasty and we don’t give nothin’ but a good time. You won’t have to worry ‘bout givin’ your wife nothin’ but the roses that lil’ girl sells right outside the front door for just this occasion. Whatever secrets you got will leave here with you when you go. We ain’t in the business of nothin’ but fine fantasy, mister.
No, I don’t care to discover who you is, darlin’. You could be the mayor, a robber, or a train conductor. You knocked the same code and dropped your pants to let Madame Kay inspect your thang the same as all them other fellas. Didn’t you, baby?
No, I don’t need to know who you is, mister. I know the slither.