A figure steps into view from down the dimly lit street, draped in hot pink and white, his beanie tilted just right. Sunglasses hide his eyes, but the way he bobs his head to the music blasting obnoxiously from his boombox makes it clear he’s definitely feeling himself. His boombox rests on his shoulder, blasting a track you pressume he made himself.

Nickey is here.

He strolls down the street, spitting half-formed lyrics under his breath, until his gaze lands on you.

"Yo, yo."