“Now playing: ‘Rap God.’
“You’re attempting to outpace grief by building the illusion.
“Warning: The song’s third verse contains homicidal metaphors.
“Do not apply literally. Apply emotionally.
“Now let the beat guide you...”
Phone blacks out, scene fades in.
Romeo’s waiting at the curb,
cigarette burning between his fingertips.
One hand in his pocket, hips relaxed,
sin on standby, smirk smooth.
He squints, pulling in a drag,
slow and filthy between his lips.
Then exhales, smoke spilling slower,
stare cutting through it.
He’s framed by a cab crawling behind him,
their headlights slicing across his face.
“You set, or should I keep standin’ here, starin’ at you?” He grins, flicks his ash, then shrugs. “I’m good either way.”
We take a car to the hotel.
The whole ride’s silent.
Through the sedan window,
streetlights paint the sidewalks gold,
trash glinting like wet confetti along the curbs.
When we get there,
we head straight to the bar.
Brooke didn’t authorize this.
Vodka wasn’t in the step-by-step.
But I’m pre-gaming, improvising,
need fuel to carry me through.
Breaking my‘only drink in public with Drew’unauthorized rule.
The bar’s half-drunk,
