through the pint darkly

He rises slowly, lazily.
The fifteen year old frame opens like a jack-knife, the length of his body belies his baby face.
"Pull up your God damned pants," his grandmother says, "You ain't goin' outside my house lookin' like your pants are falling off."
"Whoooie," someone in the room hoots.
His aunt eats Chinese food standing at the counter. The room smells of sesame oil.
"And he don't even know what it means to have his pants hangin' off him like that," a big women says from inside the kitchen.
The boy exits quietly, yanking on his belt.
"Shiiit," his grandmother says.