He turned his back on the car and started walking toward the shadows of the Northside, the beat for a new track already thumping in his skull. The offers were high, but his autonomy was higher.
The neon hum of the New Orleans corner store flickered, casting Scrim’s shadow long and jagged against the grease-stained pavement. He leaned against a rusted pump, the heavy humidity of the 504 clinging to his skin like a second layer of tattoos.
His mind flashed back to the "Northside." The nights spent in the back of a beat-up van, the smell of cheap pills and desperation. He remembered when the only offer he had was a choice between a 12-hour shift for pennies or a risky hand-off in an alleyway. Back then, the hunger was simple. Now, the hunger was a beast that everyone wanted to feed for a price.
In his pocket, his phone wouldn't stop vibrating. It wasn't just friends or family anymore; it was the industry. The same people who would’ve crossed the street to avoid him two years ago were now blowing up his line. The "offers" were rolling in—record deals that felt like golden handcuffs, vultures in expensive suits promising him the world while eyeing his soul.
He took a drag of a cigarette, the smoke curling around his face. “Now I’m up to my neck with offers,” he muttered to the empty street. It wasn't a boast; it felt like a drowning.
He turned his back on the car and started walking toward the shadows of the Northside, the beat for a new track already thumping in his skull. The offers were high, but his autonomy was higher.
The neon hum of the New Orleans corner store flickered, casting Scrim’s shadow long and jagged against the grease-stained pavement. He leaned against a rusted pump, the heavy humidity of the 504 clinging to his skin like a second layer of tattoos. He turned his back on the car and
His mind flashed back to the "Northside." The nights spent in the back of a beat-up van, the smell of cheap pills and desperation. He remembered when the only offer he had was a choice between a 12-hour shift for pennies or a risky hand-off in an alleyway. Back then, the hunger was simple. Now, the hunger was a beast that everyone wanted to feed for a price. He leaned against a rusted pump, the heavy
In his pocket, his phone wouldn't stop vibrating. It wasn't just friends or family anymore; it was the industry. The same people who would’ve crossed the street to avoid him two years ago were now blowing up his line. The "offers" were rolling in—record deals that felt like golden handcuffs, vultures in expensive suits promising him the world while eyeing his soul. Back then, the hunger was simple
He took a drag of a cigarette, the smoke curling around his face. “Now I’m up to my neck with offers,” he muttered to the empty street. It wasn't a boast; it felt like a drowning.
