Dealer
"Yo Char’eke! What’s good?”
“Ayo, Jaquan. Jus’ waitin’ ta get out’a here.”
“Word’a my motha ain’t all’a us, word’a my motha.”
“Ay, whatchu got up in ’ere today?”
“Coupl’a sticks, coupl’a pouches, the reg’lar.”
“Gimme a pouch.”
“Ya got it.”
“Jaquan, Char’eke, what do you two think you’re doing?”
“I’s just passin’ out some’a the freshest, Miss”
“Heard that.”
“Ya want any’a it?”
“I am a teacher in this school. How can you possibly expect me—”
“I’s sellin’ ’em for one twenny a pop.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“Tha’s right, Miss P, tha’s right.”
“You know you’re not supposed to be sellin’ on school grounds though, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. But I seen it happ’nin’ all over this place. I ain’t the only one. Least I ain’t got cheap ass shit like some’a these niggas. Mine be homemade.”
“Language, Jaquan.”
“Sorry, Miss P.”
“So these are homemade, then? Like the ones your aunt brought to conferences a few weeks ago?”
“Same aunty made these’uns. Ya gon’a love ’em, I know ya will.”
“All right, give me three tamales, quick. If Carlisle comes out and sees I’ll be in for it.”
“Here ya go. I’ll getcha change.”
“Keep it; it’s a tip. And be sure to tell your aunt how delicious her tamales and taquitos are. I could eat ’em all day long.”
“A’ight. Thanks, Miss.”
“Enjoy the rest of your lunch. Don’t let them see what you’re up to.”
Max Londberg taught English in an inner-city school for a year, which fueled his first book. After attempting to write the dialogue for his book as accurately as possible, he discovered Dialogual and wondered what they would think of the style.
