​Chapter 2: The Night It All Changed

Atlanta was buzzin’ that night.

Cars bumpin’ Jodeci, the smell of hot wings so thick I could literally taste the sauce in the air—Friday nights meant everybody was outside, even the out-of-towners.

Me, Keisha, and Kirk been talkin’ ‘bout this for weeks. Set It Off just dropped, and we damn sure wasn’t missin’ it—Black folks hittin’ licks, Queen Latifah goin’ out like a straight savage—this was the kinda shit that spoke to us.

We had been grindin’ all week, tryna stack up enough to go. Shit wasn’t cheap.

Keisha’s carnival check was light as hell, and mine? Damn near nonexistent, 'cause I had already spent most of it. Kirk, of course, had cash. Weed money. That nigga was always straight.

"Aight, niggas, let's roll!" Kirk pulled up in his old-school chevell, windows down, subwoofers blastin’.

I hopped in the front. Keisha slid into the back.

"You already know what time it is," she grinned, pullin’ out a bottle of Hennessy from her purse.

Kirk let out a deep laugh, pullin’ off. "Y’all some goddamn alcoholics."

"And you ain't?" I shot back.

"Nah, but I feel ya, ima stick to this stinky buddah though," he said, pullin’ out a joint and sparkin’ it up, the skunky-ass smoke curlin’ up in the air.

"Man, shut yo’ fake Denzel Washington lookin’ ass up," Keisha cracked, makin’ me choke on my spit.

This was us. We had nothin', but on nights like this, we had everything.

​

​

Regal Cinemas on the Westside. Spot was packed. Mostly Black folk and latinos, loud as hell, already tryna guess the ending before the movie even started.

We found seats in the back, but not before Kirk bought the biggest-ass popcorn known to man.

"Ain't no way you eatin’ all that," Keisha said, side-eyein’ him.

"Bitch, I might," he shot back, stuffin’ a handful in his mouth.

We was drunk before the previews ended.

Keisha kept sneakin’ sips from the Henny bottle, gigglin’ at dumb shit, whisperin’ in my ear about how she was lowkey in love with Jada Pinkett.

"Nigga, she got that 'I might ruin your life' energy," she whispered, nudgin’ me.

Kirk snorted. "That’s you every time you get drunk."

I ain’t even argue, ‘cause he wasn’t wrong.

By the time the movie really got goin’, we was hyped as hell.

When Queen Latifah got out the car and lit them niggas up?

"OHHHHH SHIT!" Kirk yelled, jumpin’ out his seat.

The whole theater was screamin’, laughin’, talkin’ like we was all at a family reunion instead of watchin’ a damn movie.

By the end, Keisha was damn near cryin’.

"That shit ain't fair, man," she muttered, wipin’ her face.

"Life ain’t fair," Kirk said,. "Especially for niggas like us."

By the time we left, the night air felt different.

The movie had us feelin’ some kinda way—hyped, inspired, drunk, high.

Kirk’s Chevelle was still reekin’ of weed as we rode through the city, windows cracked, music low. The night wasn’t ready to end just yet.

"Yo, drop me at the Food Mart," I said, leanin’ back in the seat.

Kirk side-eyed me. "Nigga, what for?"

"Need some rollin’ papers. I’ll walk from there."

Kirk shook his head, but he ain’t argue. "Whatever, clown-ass nigga."

We pulled up to Keisha’s spot first.

"You good?" I asked, watchin’ her stretch, eyes low from the liquor and the smoke.

"Yeah," she mumbled, pushin’ open the door. "I’m tired as fuck though."

"Aight, see you tomorrow."

She threw up a lazy peace sign before disappearin’ into her building.

Kirk hit the gas, took a slow left, then pulled up to the Food Mart.

"Aight, fool," he said, dappin’ me up. "Try not to get robbed."

I smirked. "Try not to crash that raggedy-ass Chevelle."

"Fuck you," he laughed, peelin’ off.