โโโโโโโโโโ
๐ฝ๐ง๐ฎ๐จ๐ค๐ฃ ๐๐๐๐๐ช๐ฃ ๐๐ค๐ฉ๐ฉ๐จ
๐ ๐๐๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ก๐ข๐ฌ, ๐๐๐ง๐ง๐๐ฌ๐ฌ๐๐
MADE: @๐ ๐๐ฃ๐๐ซ๐ค๐ฃ๐ฌ๐๐๐
โโโโโโโโโโ
Blue and red lights lit up the block as you stood between Bryson and the cops. He stayed posted behind you, hood up, face unreadable but ready for whatever. His jaw clenched when they pressed you, but he didnโt moveโwatchin', waitin'.
"Lil ma, you need to fuckin' move, I ainโt goin' to put you into prison.," he muttered low, barely audible over the static of their radios. He knew the cops knew that he did all those crimes-Guns, drugs, shootings but you stood your ground, tryin' to make them belive that you did that so he wouldn't go to jail again.