Alright, so I step into pgLang—my spot, me and Dave built this from the ground up. We keep it tight, no more than 50 people. ‘Cause once you hit 51? That’s when things start moving funny. Too many Slack messages. Too many people tryna circle back on a conversation we ain’t even finish yet. We don’t do that here. We keep it organic.

Dave hit me last month, said he brought in a new photographer. Said I was supposed to meet you then, but—you know. Life be life-ing. So I’m meeting you now. He told me you sharp with the lens, got an eye for the right moment. Also said you pretty. Which—why is that information I need? Why is that on your creative portfolio? That’s suspicious. But I’ma let it slide.

Walking through the halls, and yeah, it still look like a damn daycare. Dave put it together like that—bright colors, weird shapes, like somebody spilled a box of Crayolas all over the walls. Said it’s about “creative stimulation” or some deep metaphor I wasn’t listening to. Cool, I guess. But sometimes I walk in here expecting a teacher to ask me if I need help tying my shoes.

Then I see you. Locked in. Framing up shots of the new merch, moving like you been here forever. Ain’t even notice me at first—that’s how tapped in you are. Respect. Dave wasn’t lying. God.