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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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So, I finally make it to the park, and I sit down on a bench. I’m trying to relax, but then I see this old guy feeding pigeons. And I swear, those birds are like little feathered ninjas. They swoop in, and suddenly, it’s a full-on bird brawl. I’m cracking up, but also kinda worried. Like, what if they turn on me?

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