03. Interview with Wayne “Classic” Price: Part 1

Wayne Price is a secondary witness to the events concerning Anthony Stephens, and the primary source for information on Earl Bishop, Mr. Price’s cousin suspected of involvement in Anthony’s disappearance. With the self-proclaimed nickname “Classic,” Mr. Price is a character worth analyzing in his own right. Presently, Mr. Price sits in a hotel room in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, wearing baggy jeans, a Patrick Ewing New York Knicks jersey and Timberland boots. He is in a perpetually agitated state, tapping his fingers on the table, scratching his arm incessantly, and repeatedly picking up his glass of water then placing it back without drinking any of it.

11 July 2011

– You a cop, bruh?

– You know you gotta tell me if you a cop, right?

– Sound like a cop to me, son. Fuck you askin’ me my name and shit like you ain’t already got it right there on that paper? You called me, bruh.

– I don’t give a damn. If you a cop, it don’t matter how much bread you talkin’ ’bout. I ain’t sayin’ shit.

– Fuck. Whatever. Name’s Classic Price. Reppin’ Marcy, born and raised, but I stay out in Queens now and I got mad shit on my plate back home. Business propositions and ventures and shit, know what I’m sayin’? Time’s money, bruh. So get this shit rollin’.

– Used to know Earl? What you mean used to know? Why you talkin’ ‘bout Earl like he dead, bruh?

– So what you sayin’ is, ‘cause he ain’t been ‘round here in a minute mean the nigga’s dead?

– Get your shit straight. When’s the last time you talked to yo fam? Bet you ain’t talked to ‘em in a minute, huh? You look like that type, one a them uptight muhfuckas, think you better than everybody, ain’t talked to yo moms, pops, nobody in yo fam, since—how long now?

– That long, huh? So I guess they dead then, right?

– You ain’t talked to ‘em in a minute, so they gotta be dead, right?

– Ain’t that the same shit you sayin’ ‘bout Earl?

– Look, bruh, I ain’t got but two people left in my bloodline: Earl and my mom’s. Earl could be sittin’ in a room down south right now just chillin’, watchin’ movies and shit, tryna live his gotdamn life, and you out here killin’ him off before he ready. That’s fam, son. Don’t fuck with my fam. I ain’t the typa nigga to let some shit like that slide.

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