“Eight ball in the corner pocket,” Vernon said, before sinking it neatly.
He chalked up his pool cue and said, “Where’s Mario tonight, anyway. He’s usually not late.”
Me, Mario, Vernon, Juan, and Moises make up the Nosénada Club. We meet at a local bar twice a week for what we call our pool or darts tournament. Nosénada translates roughly as “I Know Nothing.” If a wife calls for us, the other members admit to knowing nothing.
“Maybe he’s studying,” Moises said. “Remember, he signed up to finish classes so he can get his high school diploma.”
Mario arrived, grabbed a pool cue and said, “Sorry I’m late, guys.”
“We figured you was studying for school,” Juan said.
“Nah,” Mario said. “I quit school because I couldn’t wake up in time to get to eight o’clock class.”
“That’s just stupid,” Vernon said. “You was going to night school.”
“What were you studying?” I asked.
“I had to take English. I should have been taking History. It would do me more good,” he replied.
“What do you mean?”
“If I studied history I could win arguments like the one that made me late tonight.”
“Who were you arguing with?” I asked.
“Same as always—Consuela.”
“What does history have to do with arguing with your wife?”
“When things is getting all hot up, and she’s starting to be really vexed, that’s when she gets historical,” he said.
“Don’t you mean she starts getting hysterical?”
“No. She gets historical. Every argument we have, sooner or later she’s gonna be bringing up something I did in the past.”
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