We’d arrived late, it was dark already, and everyone, all of roomie bro’s wifey B’s friends I’d never met, were sorta mellowing. They’d gone hard the night before apparently.

Roomie bro and I and B and B’s friend whose house it was hit the Henny and a J and mished it out to the water.

Like 100 feet away!

This whole area, beach houses and American flags and Ford trucks in driveways, felt like a slice of society I’d hitherto been excluded from.

That I’d somehow managed to sneak into.

6

LIL B

America Day 2018

The next morning I awoke early, like one does when sleeping borderline outside.

Tiptoed up the three flights that switchbacked the east-facing front of the house, inside, to the kitchen. To make coffee.

But there were so many people passed out on the floor and couches, I didn’t wanna wake em.

So went back downstairs, to my van, to get the Coleman going.

Took the 2-gal. propane tank outta my van, onto the gravel driveway.

Hooked it up to the Coleman camper stove I’d placed on the entry step of the side door, sitting in front of it on my three-legged, fold-out stool.

Attended to my lil stove desk.

Packed the pot with Bustelo and sparked it.

Started looking at my phone.

Railed a banana.

Smoked a cig.

When I checked back on it, the espresso pot was only half full and was no longer spewing steam.

The flame was out.

I checked the connection.

The tank.

Everything looked/felt good.

Thought maybe the gas was out. Tried it with my backup, 1-lb. propane tank. Still nothing.

I inspected the stove more.

Everything was rusted out bc I hadn’t used it in so long. Had left it out back in the rain.

I’d neglected it.

Whatever the pot had managed to gurgle up before the thing crapped out, till the rest awoke, would have to do.

Ever since roomie bro had hopped on my and V’s last mixtape, the plan had been to drop one together.

But we were less than a month away from him moving out and I didn’t know if it was gonna happen.

Didn’t know whether we’d neglected the project too long to resuscitate it.

But this, rap, was what most connected us. Since way back.

When we lived together in college, we’d freestyle weekly in the empty room on the third floor of the Barn—the off-campus house we lived in—that was reserved for hotboxing and freestyling in.

And then, spring of my last year of school, before walking. Mished it up to the school V went to, to see Lil B the BasedGod perform.

Such a legendary and formative mish, I can’t even.

Peak Lil B, when he was dropping videos like every third day.

Which, this aspect, the frequency of his output, was one thing.

A thing on its own.