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The fluorescent lights of the penthouse studio hummed at a frequency that matched the tension in the room. It was 3:00 AM in Atlanta, the hour when the city’s pulse slows down, but the creative blood in this room was just beginning to boil.
"Super Slimey," Thug said, cracking a grin for the first time all night. "Forever," Future nodded. 1100x750 Young Thug & Future. Young thug, Futur...
They had been at this for ten hours. The floor was littered with empty Styrofoam cups and crumpled notebook pages that neither of them actually used—their lyrics lived in the air, pulled down like lightning rods. The fluorescent lights of the penthouse studio hummed