His head falls back.
“Ah. So I’m not cleared yet. Damn.”
“Locked up with my middle name.”
“Aight, so what about nights and weekends… What’s your off-the-clock look like? Y’know, when you ain’t spyin’ on people, Googlin’ shit, and obsessin’ over Aerosmith?”
I lay a hand on my chest. “Listen—obsession is the only way to keep Aerosmith alive. If I wasn’t actively obsessin’ over them, I’d never hear them.”
He shoots me awhat-are-you-talkin’-aboutface,
complete with a crooked brow.
I nudge my chin toward the city. “You ever walk down a Manhattan block and hear Steven Tyler playin’ through someone’s speakers?” His head tilts, thinking. I keep going— “Or in the produce aisle between Swift and Styles? In a cab? A store? A bar? Or a fuckin’ elevator?”
He can't think of a time.
“Didn’t think so. ‘Cause you don’taccidentallybump into Aerosmith. It never crashes through your speakers by mistake.” I shake my head, the fact pissing me off all over again. “Aerosmith doesn’t show up in your life unless youwantit to.”
His expression falls,
world turned upside down.
“Wait—nah. Nah, you’re right.
“You’re so right.”
His laugh leaves shocked.
“You’re deadass right.
“I ain’t ever heard it by accident. Not once.”
“Exactly,” I say. “You gotta choose Aerosmith. Or it disappears. You gotta crave it bad enough to scroll, search, click, play the damn song yourself. It doesn’t come to you. It makes you come to it.”
His face is frozen in heartbreak.
“Yo, why would you say that?”
He leans back, personally attacked.
“Now I’m just… sad. For Aerosmith.
“For all of us, honestly.”
He pauses.
“Hold up?—
“what the hell were we even talkin’ about?”
I chuckle. “You asked how I spend my nights and weekends. That was your first mistake.”
He nods, fighting a grin.
“Right. Right. I ask one basic-ass question,
“and you still find a way to fuck me up.”
