𝑨𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑴𝑶𝑵𝒀- 𝐉𝐨𝐉𝐨 𝐇.

𝐎𝐧𝐞

Grine's Apartment Complex
1:20 A.M.

☠︎

After wiping the center thoroughly for the second time, I held the rag tightly in my grip while resting my hand on the side of the helmet. A dimly lit sight of my reflection shined.

Barely.

The room was dark. All the light I needed was provided by the TV in front, broadcasting the same news. Attention held captive by cleaning my gear, I barely listened. The reporter's fake professionalism was the last thing I heard before my ears drowned out.

Michael Jackson—dead at 50.

That same headline plastered on all the news channels for the last two weeks, forcing the public's attention. At least it took the attention away from all the killings, even though it's been a minute since one occurred, which was good.

If there isn't one depressing thing, there's another. That's why I hate watching the news. All they talk about is sad shit. My life isn't peaches and cream, so why add more negativity? Not to mention, the news is filled with bias and hypocrisy. Just a few years ago, they were defaming the man's character with all the sexual assault claims on those young boys. Now they want to mourn his death, reclaiming his status as the King Of Pop, suddenly in need to 'honor' his legacy.

Bunch of fake shit.

Although the news is dreadful—it's entertaining. It's hard to turn and look away from. Like a train wreck, you can't help but be nosey and view. You need the news anyway. It's informative. How else are we supposed to know when the race war is going to start, and niggas need to get prepared for the worst? They can come in handy.

I can't take it anymore.

My hand dropped the black cloth onto the coffee table to grab the remote on top of the empty pizza box. While wondering which number combo to press to escape the fraud, a new headline abruptly flashed and took over the lower part of the screen.