Shadows of Our Society: (Shadow Purgers Series, Book 1.5) by N. Phillips

Author:N. Phillips [Phillips, N.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: N. PHILLIPS
Published: 2021-06-04T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 7

The next day after school, Tory and I sat in the control room of the recording studio up the block from my house. Sitting next to us on the leather couch was a little girl watching cartoons on the phone in her hands—who happened to be the daughter of Darius’s producer.

“Let’s run that back,” the producer said to Darius, who we could see in the booth through the laminated glass window between the two rooms.

The beat dropped just before Darius began to rap. It was generic lyrics about money, cars, clothes, and hoes—and that’s cool when you feeling yourself and the song is hard—but there lies the problem…

The track was garbage.

Once he was done recording, he walked out of the booth and into the control room hyped as hell as if he made some heat. Tory and I were here to ask him about Lorenzo, but I couldn’t resist calling him out on that whack ass song. It was in my nature when it came to music.

“It was trash,” I uttered over his celebration. His face scrunched up as if he heard the most baffling statement in the world. “The bass is knockin’, but it’s drownin’ out the other instruments on the track. Your lyrics are cool for what’chu goin’ for, but they don’t make sense sometimes. You said, ‘I’m Tom, this money Jerry’, but if you watch the cartoon, Tom never catches Jerry. So, by that logic, you gonna be chasin’ the bag forever.”

The death stare from Darius that followed made me look away in silence. I really gotta learn when to speak my mind.

“The youngin’ got a point,” his producer chuckled out. Darius’s glare shifted to him, leading to my audible sigh of relief.

“Fix this shit,” he demanded. “I’m goin’ back in.”

Once he left the room to step back in the booth, his producer turned to me and said, “You almost got us killed.” He then proceeded to tweak the sound of the song as Darius went over his lyrics noted on the cell phone.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but so far in his rap career, Darius had only been surrounded by Yes Men. His only foot in the game was the release of two mixtapes averaging low streams online, with one being a collection of diss songs toward a rap group he had beef with who were called the Three Wavy Boyz. Clearly music wasn’t for him, but hey, all it takes is one lucky hit, right?

As the recording went on, the little girl beside me began to pout and whine while looking down at the phone in her hands. Her father took notice, asking, “What’s wrong, baby girl?”

“Your phone sucks,” she said, making me smile. She couldn’t have been older than six or seven.

“What’chu mean my phone sucks?” He took the phone out of her hands and looked at the screen. “I put cartoons on for you like I always do, so… Wait, hol’ up. What? Why everything replaced with old shit?”

Me and Tory gave each other a confused look before he took out his cell phone and went online.

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