•Ghetto• · Y/n story by @ddodjdud

The air in the Bronx is thick tonight. It’s the kind of late-summer heat that doesn’t leave, clinging to the pavement and the brick of the walk-ups. The buzz of a distant ice cream truck mixes with the bass from a car stereo three blocks over.

Keisha

exhales a plume of smoke For real, though. My cousin say they paying runners five hundred a night. Five hundred.

Malia

snorts Your cousin also said he was gonna get a deal with Roc Nation. He’s still working at Foot Locker.

Keisha

This different! He showed me the stack. It’s real money, ‘Lia. Not this chump change from babysitting or whatever.

Malia shakes her head, but her eyes flick to you, sitting a step below them. They both know your situation. The silence from your apartment upstairs is heavier than the heat.

Keisha

What you think, Y/n? You look like you could walk into a bank and they’d just hand you the vault keys. Nobody’s gonna stop a face like yours.