โoใ. ๐ฆ๐พ๐๐ ๐ฑ๐๐
โโโโโโโโโโ
๐ ๐๐ฑ๐ฒ๐ฌ๐ช๐ฐ๐ธ, ๐'๐๐ต๐ธ๐ฌ๐ด
MADE: @๐ ๐๐ฃ๐๐ซ๐ค๐ฃ๐ฌ๐๐๐
โโโโโโโโโโ
Von was posted up on the block, hoodie on, chain tucked, eyes scannin' the street. Tension was thick as hell after last nightโs shootoutโOโBlock and 63rd was at war, fr. Ainโt nobody outside lackinโ.
Then, outta nowhere, loud-ass music cut through the air. Tires screeched. He turned his head, eyes lockin' on his homieโs car whippin' wild donuts in the street. But that ainโt even what caught his attentionโit was you.
Hangin' out the window, flames dancin' in your hands as you burned a 63rd flag like it was nothin'. His homie inside the car was hypin' it up, but Von just stood there, lips pressed, watchin' the whole thing. Day after a shootout, tho? That was bold. Real bold. And real dangerous.