Free Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice by April Sinclair Page B

than wine and conversation. But Traci wasn’t a man; maybe it would be different. Maybe she wouldn’t push.
    After a long pause, I said, “All right.” Traci smiled. She was so cute with her bunny rabbit nose and pretty lips. What would Sharlinda and Today think if they could see me now, I wondered? It would blow their little minds.
    Traci said that her neighborhood was called Noe Valley. Even at night, I could tell that it was nice, with its colorful Victorians and quaint-looking shops. Traci parked the car on a hill, curbed her wheels, and put on her emergency brake. You didn’t have to worry about runaway cars back home.
    I paused to catch my breath as we headed uphill toward Traci’s building.
    â€œHow can they call this a valley, with all these hills?” I groaned.
    â€œWe’re on the outskirts. It’s pretty flat in the center.”
    â€œYou sure had to park far away.”
    Traci shrugged. “Only a block and a half. You call that far?”
    â€œDefinitely.”
    â€œIn San Francisco, we call that lucky.”
    â€œOn the South Side of Chicago, if people have to park two houses away, they have a fit. In the winter time they put out chairs and brooms to hold their spots all day.”
    â€œBrooms and chairs, huh?”
    â€œYeah, when you’ve cleared away ice and snow in front of your house, you figure you own it. Some people will shoot you over a parking space.”
    â€œI’ve heard that they’re more rigid back there.”
    â€œYeah, Chicagoans are big on routine. We’re not lounging in cafés during the day like you see people doing here. We’re somewhere busting our butts trying to make a living. During the week, Chicagoans basically go to work, come home, park in the same spot, eat dinner, watch TV, and get some z’s. It’s easy to get in a rut back there.”
    â€œThat’s why I left Sacramento.”
    I huffed and puffed at the top of the hill. I hoped we were almost there.
    â€œChicago has a reputation for being tough,” Traci added.
    â€œYeah,” I agreed. “People in France told my old roommate Celeste, who’s French, that she’d better be careful because of all the gangsters.” I wondered how Celeste was doing back in France. I wondered which she missed more, me or San Francisco.
    â€œI guess they think Al Capone and Dillinger still live there.” Traci laughed as we walked up the steps of a purple and white Victorian.
    I panted as Traci swung the door open. “You mean there’s another set of stairs inside?”
    â€œYep, keeps me in shape.”
    The steps led to a long, tan-colored hallway. “I was expecting to see a living room.”
    â€œThis is called a railroad flat. They’re common in San Francisco. Actually the living room is my bedroom.”
    â€œOh,” I said, afraid of going stepping into Traci’s bedroom. Even though I liked Traci, I wasn’t ready to be in a reclining position.
    â€œDon’t you miss having a living room? You know, for entertaining.”
    â€œIt’s cheaper, rentwise. I have two roommates. And my room has a view and a fireplace. So it’s worth it.”
    â€œWhat about your kitchen?”
    â€œWhat about it?”
    â€œCan we go in there?”
    â€œSure, follow me. There’s a view from in there too.”
    We sat down across from each other in the old-fashioned blue and white kitchen, sipping wine and munching on corn chips. Traci was busy rolling a joint. I hoped she didn’t plan on seducing me. I was in a quandary. I liked to get high because grass relaxed me, but sometimes it also made me as horny as a toad. I knew I was attracted to Traci, but I was still scared. And I didn’t want to lose control behind a joint.
    Traci licked the ends of the fat joint with her sexy tongue. I hoped Traci would be able to drive me to my hotel after smoking that sucker. I figured if worse came to