! BOOK ONE OF THE NAS TRILOGY !
In building 40-16 of Queensbridge North Housing, Nasir Jones steps up as the man of the house. Looking after his mother and brother, Jabari, he's hungry for a way out. His back is against the wall after the loss of hi...
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"It Was Written is the name of the next album." I said confidently to the journalist that was interviewing me for The Source magazine.
"What makes this album so different from Illmatic? What changes have you faced during the time period of your first release leading into this one?" Asked the journalist. She wrote key notes from each response to her question. A tape recorder kept record of my statements in its entirety.
"I was a boy when Illmatic dropped. I had my girl, our son was a few months old at the time. I had everything to lose in '94, you know what I'm sayin'?" I asked the journalist. "Now, my son will be three this year. His mom is doing her thing, on Billboards worldwide and shit. So, instead of everything to lose, I have everything to prove now." I said as I leaned back in the chair.
"Speaking of your son's mother, is Gia Romelle still the muse you speak so highly of, though you two are separated at the moment?" The journalist was beginning to pry into personal shit. At this point, if Gia wants to parade around New York with this Tyson nigga, let's talk openly about our relationship.
"She'll always be my muse, my inspiration, you know what I'm sayin'? That's the mother of my kid. I've got nothing but love for her." I answered the question honestly. "So, does this mean that you two could possibly rekindle your romance?" The journalist smiled at me after asking the question.
I laughed before parting my lips to speak. "We're getting married one of these days. We've talked about taking it there, you know?" I said with a smile on my face. "I think right now, we're busy working on our careers and figuring out life apart so when we get back together, we can do this shit the right way." I answered.
Gia | 2:12pm "Are you reading this shit?" Stacy popped her gum loudly as she flicked through The Source's new issue. I stopped at Nasir's centerfold and stared at his bare, baby faced mug—printed black and white on the page.
I continued to read the words from his interview on the next page. "So, what side of Nas are we getting for the sophomore entry?" Stacy changed her voice to sound higher in pitched and professional in delivery.
I took on the voice of Nasir and mocked his rasp and deep voice as I read his answer out loud.
"This is Nas in his purest form. This is a man trying to figure this shit out. It's a warning to the young niggas out here. A manual to some. But, this isn't Illmatic. This is some Pablo Escobar kind of shit, you know what I'm sayin'?" I mocked my ex's voice as Stacy laughed at the attempt.
"You're dead wrong for that!" Stacy slapped her knee from laughter.
"Is that not how he sounds?" I asked her as I flipped the page. He posed in a chair with his legs spread apart, leaning his jaw against his fist that was decorated with a presidential Rolex watch. His white shirt was well fit and his jeans were baggy.
