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So I hit up my girl, like, “Bitch, where they at?” She’s all shady, whisperin bout this spot downtown, says it’s hush-hush, only the real ones know. I’m hyped, yall! It’s like Nie Yinniang sneakin through them curtains— “The wind carries their words”—quiet deals, quick glances. I roll up, feelin fierce, hair poppin, nails sharp enough to cut glass. This dude outside, sketch as fuck, eyeballin me—prolly thinks I’m lost. I’m like, “Naw, fam, I’m here for the goods!”

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. Like, monsoon-level rain. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m laughing, like, “Really? This is how it ends?” But the locals? They just pull out umbrellas and keep going. I’m standing there, drenched, and they’re all like, “Join us!” So, I do. We’re dancing in the rain, and it’s epic.

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