There was a tapping on the front door and, through the shades, a figure stood outside wearing a Kangol hat. “We’re closed,” Ice yelled. “Yo OG my fade is getting raggedy. I came too far to look bad in VA.” It was a New York voice. That hard edge to the words. The taunt rhythm of the cadence. It was a voice quick to feel offense, one prone to verbal violence and trickled to intimidate.
FICTION: Ice, Dre and the Past That Never Ends
FICTION: Ice, Dre and the Past That Never…
FICTION: Ice, Dre and the Past That Never Ends
There was a tapping on the front door and, through the shades, a figure stood outside wearing a Kangol hat. “We’re closed,” Ice yelled. “Yo OG my fade is getting raggedy. I came too far to look bad in VA.” It was a New York voice. That hard edge to the words. The taunt rhythm of the cadence. It was a voice quick to feel offense, one prone to verbal violence and trickled to intimidate.