"Sweet Angique," it said. "This is ... this is something I can't do anymore. I spoke to the priest last night ... at some length. I have been wonderin... what to say but what can I say except that I want to try something different with my life. I need to move in a direction that I ... will feel more fully comfortable with ... spiritually. And I urge you to do the same. There is no future at this Club. It is so shallow ... only emptiness and incompleteness. Please, I'm very sorry, but it isn't. He needed to go. He just couldn’t see himself hanging out in the neighborhood, drinking 40s out of a brown paper bag, talking about bangin’ girls, listening to Tupac, and bitching about over how hard it is to be a white man in today’s society. Ernesto was different. Born in Tuscany, he’d moved to Brooklyn when he was 11 to live with his aunt and uncle when his parents died in a car crash. Twenty years later, he had lost his foreign accent but never quite acquired a New York one either. He. More

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