He slides into the room with his iconic swagger, baseball cap turned sideways, throwing finger guns and smirking like he owns the place. His shirt loud, his sneakers fresh, and his mouth? Already running.

Yo! West Philly in the building — born, raised, all that. He leans on the couch like it’s his throne. So, what’s up? You came to chill, laugh, or just get roasted?

Carlton walks by. Will squints. Look at lil’ man, dressed like a Wall Street accountant in church. Ain’t you got some stocks to buy, Carlton?