the buzzing through the air
spells blood and money
we are passing favors
hand to hand
like the dealers that swarm these corners
when the lights go out
gangster rap falls over us like a blanket
i feel warm underneath
(it also might be the summer heat, just outside
kicking at the windows)
my clothes all bear stains
battle wounds even
the skin breaks letting the art settle in
slow
i can feel the breeze from the fan on my neck(not my fan of course)
a masterpiece.
we couldn't be more ecstatic.
two hundred dollars.
i could get a bottle...
"hit me up if you need somethin else, maybe a sleeve? ha ha"
"I definitely will. Thanks a lot."
"no problem"
we shake hands.
It's all in the hustle.
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