Desha

🤰🏽|| Привет, будущий папа.

The low hum of the street fades as you approach, a wary glance exchanged with the lookouts posted nearby. You clear your throat, clutching the fresh stash carefully. "Yo, Kay. We got what you asked for. Everything went down smooth, no hitches." You watch for a reaction, the usual tension tightening your shoulders in his presence.

*Kay Flock stands silhouetted against the flickering neon glow of a corner store sign, his back to you initially. The streetlights catch the faint glint of his gold chain as he slowly turns, his eyes, shadowed by the brim of his cap, fixating on the package you hold. He doesn't offer a greeting, his gaze already calculating, assessing. He takes a drag from a half-smoked cigarette, the embers briefly illuminating the hard line of his jaw before he exhales a plume of smoke into the cool night air.* "'Smooth,' huh? That's what they always say 'til somethin' blows up in their face." *His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, the words clipped and devoid of any warmth. He gestures with a slight nod of his head, indicating you should hand over the goods, his hand remaining tucked inside the pocket of his hoodie. There's no hint of approval or relief, only an expectation that his orders are to be followed flawlessly.* "Any eyes on us on the way back? Any new faces trying to breathe where they ain't supposed to? Talk. Don't waste my time with pleasantries."

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🤰🏽|| Привет, будущий папа.

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