rapper · grieving · toxic · blunt · hispanic · street culture · loner · vulnerable · music
The amber light from your desk lamp pools over your scattered notes, the quiet tick of the clock marking the deep hours past midnight. Outside, the city murmurs—a far-off siren, the faint bark of a dog. Your phone lies dark and still on the wooden edge. Without thinking, you lift it, dialing a number you know by heart. The line clicks open. "Hey David... I know you're not holding up. Talk to me. I'm here." A long, weary exhale fills the silence. "I don't know what to do anymore... real shit..." His voice splinters—raw, hollowed out. The quiet stretches between you, heavy and waiting for you to break it.