Queenie has an afro the size of a beach ball. It’s more like a head full of soft, fuzzy springs that wave back and forth as she moves. She also has an ass the size of a small car, which she manages to stuff into skin tight jeans. It’s not a pleasant image in the abstract, but her big smile and sunny, black lady disposition makes it work. People like Queenie. Even when she is bossy, which is most of the time, it is impossible to be mad at her, because she fills a necessary role in the only way possible.
It’s why she is the assistant store manager down at the market. This is the ghetto market where all of the help is black and most of the customers are black and Hispanic. There are some old honkies who never moved away that still come into the store, but that’s during the day when it is safe. The rest of the time the store is what one has come to expect from an urban ghetto. In order to keep libertarianism from breaking out, the store needs a strong authority figure keeping order. That’s Queenie. She takes no guff from anyone.
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