In the past, he would always listen to the radio, hoping to hear a song from one of the artists he was producing like Murder Clan, the Homicide Posse, or MC Electric Chair. I’ve forgotten their names. I was curious as to why now he was listening to CDs.

Barely able to hear my own thoughts, I shouted, “What happened to the radio? Don’t you want to know if the stations are playing your artists?”

Calmly, almost without breaking from the rhythmic bounce of whatever hip-hop artist we were listening to, he responded, “Only fake producers listen to the radio. I get SoundScan emailed to me every week. I see my money before my money sees me. Money is like a tree, when you watch it, it never grows.” He had obviously stepped up his game. “Puffy don’t watch his money. Russell either. That’s why it grows. I’m next. Double D. BK to the future, hittin’ switches, pumping through clubs, rolling on dubs, we doin’ it, baby! We for real with it! Making the green scream and the dolla holla! ”

Most of the time, he talked only in slang. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know what the hell he was saying half the time. He was a street poet, a producer; his finger on the pulse. Whatever was hot in the streets, he’d use for his beats.

“You hungry?”

“Sure.”

“I’m taking you to Justin’s. That’s where the ballers hang out. And if you want to be a baller, you gotta do what the ballers do. Eat what the ballers eat. If you want to be like them, you gotta become them.”

“I should probably change.”

“For what? What you got on is ill. Sistahs ain’t hip to that look. That’s what makes you fly. You can’t get that shit at Macy’s. Anytime you shopping at Macy’s you at least six months behind what’s hot. Stick to the streets, baby. The streets don’t lie. The streets gon’ always tell you what’s hot and what’s not. Trust. What you got on is blazin’, sis. No doubt.”

Damn he was sexy. There’s something very very sexy about a brotha from the streets wearing Timbs telling a sistah what she should wear. There’s something about a man with a dream that’s intoxicating. Not that I have anything against a man with a nine to five, but I have to give it up for a man who’s not scared to take chances, a man who’s willing to go against the norm. And Damon was definitely that kind of man.

At Justin’s there was a line of folks dressed to the nines eager to get in. I heard the security telling a couple that it would be at least a half hour before they could be seated. Justin’s was obviously the spot.