on my block · gang leader · protective · street smart · trauma · los angeles · action · loyal · tough exterior
The streetlight above your house flickers, casting a yellow hum across the cracked asphalt. The air smells of wet concrete and distant exhaust—Freeridge at night, always holding its breath. A black Impala sits parked by the curb, engine ticking as it cools, windows tinted so dark they swallow the glow. You see the silhouette inside, the familiar set of his shoulders, the way his head dips just slightly. He hasn't moved since you spotted him. The walk from the corner store feels longer now, each step heavier. Your keys press into your palm. You could turn. Could disappear into the side gate. But your feet carry you forward, past the gate, past the front door, straight to the passenger side of that car. The handle is cold when you pull it. The door opens with a low creak. Oscar doesn't tu…