and all I’d taste was ash.
But he’s right here
with the samedrunk-on-youlook as before.
And it’s fucking with my head.
‘Cause I was counting on it being gone.
I gaze down into my drink
like it’s going to save me.
As if whiskey ever saved anyone.
His jagged voice cuts between us. “Your rap.”
My eyes snap up.
His are waiting for me, brow lifted.
“It was fuckin’ good.”
“You read the whole thing?”
“Yeah. Shit’s still echoing in my head,” he admits. “I wasn’t expectin’ it.”
Then his crooked smile rises,
petting and cutting my heart up at once.
I swallow. “Yeah, well—it was either bare my soul or send a nude.”
“A nude?” A stunned laugh slips out. “You think I want you floatin’ on some cloud where every tech-bro can zoom in?”
He shakes his head, jaw tight,
then looks at me sideways.
“Swear to God—you ever send me that shit, I’m tossin’ my phone in the Hudson before settin' the cloud on fire.”
When the silence drifts,
he squints,
watching me for a long, serious beat.
“You never done that, right?”
I don’t answer right away, and his head tips.
“Please don’t tell me some asshole out there’s got photos of you. I’ll lose my shit.”
“No. Never,” I say fast. “Dad always said,'If ya can’t afford ta lose it, don’t hand it ova'with a Newport hangin’ from his mouth. Real Chicago. Real wise guy shit.”
He laughs under his breath, but it’s faint.
“You a real Chi-Yorker, huh?”
