We went outside and smoked. As we were, a car parked up. Another black fella — much older than William Perry but wearing the same uniform — got out of an ancient, battered car, the type all African-American security guards on the minimum wage owned.
“Hey, Reggie,” the big security guard said to his colleague.
Reggie acknowledged us with a smile before saying:
“You waitin’ to get in folks?”
“No, we’ve already been in,” I said.
“Did you let ’em in, Michael?” Reggie asked. The big security guard didn’t know where to look. “Well?”
It’s all your fault, I thought as I looked at my girlfriend, not at all pleased with her.
“You better go,” Reggie said to us. “Don’t nobody hire this dude!”
I don’t know William Perry’s fate — I just hope it all worked out all right in the end.