To the streets, he was Reckless.
Short-tempered, hot-headed Reckless.
Yes, to the streets, he was Reckless.
But to her, he was Nehemiah.
And all they needed was each other.
𝕸𝖚𝖑𝖑𝖆
𝙎𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙇𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙣 𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙚𝙙.
Previously titled All...
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I watch Tigz slip two straws from the plastic holder beside Starbucks' singular till, he tucks them between two of his fingers, and channels his focus on balancing our drinks and his snacks between his two hands, as he shuffles towards the seats we'd chosen. The sun spills through the glass storefront, painting our wooden table and the Krispy Kreme box on top of it in a golden sheen. As if I'm not hot enough as it is, unbroken rays of sun blare through the window and bake my t-shirt and my exposed stretches of skin. The shop isn't empty, but the tables closest to ours are clear and the few people who wander in take their shit to go. There's an ambience of calm in here, for once, fulfilled by the faint ground noise and the gentle smell of caramel and coffee. Tigz pauses beside our table, he places my cup in front of me, I snatch the straw from him when he moves as though he's about to put it in for me. He laughs and takes the seat opposite me.
"Where's TK?" I ask. Tigz's cheeks hollow as he takes a large swig through his straw. He lets the gulp travel down his throat, before he answers me.
"He said give him, like, ten minutes," Tigz says, glancing towards his phone and then back to me. I nod, ripping the paper packaging from my straw and pushing it into my drink. I ignore Tigz's impatient glare, as I flip open the box of doughnuts and take a glazed ring into my hand. He kisses his teeth, and leans forward in his seat. "I bought you the dumb drink and the doughnuts, can you tell me what happened now?"
