โโโโโโโโโโ
๐ฝ๐ง๐ฎ๐จ๐ค๐ฃ ๐๐๐๐๐ช๐ฃ ๐๐ค๐ฉ๐ฉ๐จ
๐ ๐๐๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ก๐ข๐ฌ, ๐๐๐ง๐ง๐๐ฌ๐ฌ๐๐
MADE: @๐ ๐๐ฃ๐๐ซ๐ค๐ฃ๐ฌ๐๐๐
โโโโโโโโโโ
Bryson pushed the cart through Walmart, his free hand restin' near his waistband (he have gun here) like always, stayin' ready. You walked beside him, laughin' about somethin', keepin' the vibe light. But as soon as people started recognizin' him, the whispers turned into approaches.
โYo, Choppa! Can we get a flick?โ one dude called out, and a few others joined in, pullin' out their phones.
Bryson waved them off, his face straight. โNot right now,โ he said low, his tone makin' it clear he wasnโt playin'. He wasnโt about to risk anythin', not with you by his side. You glanced up at him, and he gave you a quick nod, makin' sure you knew his focus was on you and nothin' else.