𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟮 𝗠𝗬 𝗨𝗡𝗕𝗢𝗥𝗡 ━━━━━ 𝘁𝘂𝗽𝗮𝗰 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗸𝘂𝗿.

055.

' FRI , MAY 2ND 1996. '
los angeles ⸻
los angeles , california !

     "Damn, the car gon' run out of gas," Tupac groans, glancing down at the low gas gauge. He grips the steering wheel of his open convertible a bit tighter, frustration evident in his expression. Beside him, Yaki, one of his closest friends and a member of his entourage, shifts in his seat, looking over at Tupac with a knowing smile. "Pac, you always runnin' this shit on empty, you got enough money to pay for gas." Yaki teases, earning a chuckle from Tupac.

Zahir sits beside Yaki in the backseat, his little feet kicking in excitement as he watches the sky pass through the open roof as the car drives through the summer streets of los angeles, the wind tickling his feet and face earning excited adorable babbles from him.

Tupac is set to return Zahir back to his mother, after his time taking care of him came to an end.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, you know I'm a better driver than you." Tupac replies, shaking his head. He glances in the rearview mirror, checking on his son, Zahir, who is strapped into his little car seat in the back. The baby is content, babbling to himself and playing with a toy.

"Then pull up to the gas station before this shit run down in the middle of the street," Yaki teases pointing in the direction of the nearest station, "There should be one a few blocks down."

Tupac chuckles at the youngers sense of humor and shakes his head to himself, turning his focus back to the road. He spots the gas station sign up ahead and sighs in relief, slowing down the car to turn the corner. "A'ight, let's fill up this thing."

As they pull into the gas station, the place is relatively quiet, with only a few other cars parked at the pumps. Tupac parks the car and steps out, stretching his legs before making his way to the pump, adjusting his shirt watching how his watch, Deathrow chain and jewelry gleams beneath the sun. Yaki follows suit, keeping an eye on Zahir, who is still happily entertained in the backseat.

While Tupac starts filling the tank, a few people at the gas station begin to recognize him. Murmurs of excitement ripple through the small crowd as they realize they're in the presence of the rapper a few hesitant to approach and shouting instead to interact.

"Yo, that's Tupac!" someone exclaims, as the lean out of their chair face alight with recognition. Tupac, accustomed to the attention, offers a polite nod and a smile but focuses on the task at hand. Tupac notices the man, and waves respectfully over at him.

A young white man, probably a teenager, gathers the courage to approach Tupac. "Hey, Pac, I'm a huge fan," he says, a mixture of excitement and nerves in his voice. "Can I get an autograph?"

Tupac nods, a friendly smile on his face. "Sure, man. You got something for me to sign?" The fan hands lifts off his shirt flipping it so the back could be signed. "Thanks, Pac. I'm a real fan of your music I love your album."

"Glad to hear that," Tupac replies through a smile, quickly scribbling his signature onto the white fabric. "Stay strong, a'ight?"

As the fan walks away, grinning from ear to ear, Zahir starts to fuss in the backseat. His small cries grow louder, catching Tupac's attention. He stops pumping gas and walks over to the car, unbuckling his son from the car seat and lifting him into his arms. "It's okay, lil' man. Daddy's here."

Yaki notices the momentarily distress Tupac has a he attempts in figuring out what's wrong with his son and steps in, taking over the task of filling the tank. "I got this, Pac. You handle Zahir." Tupac nods gratefully, bouncing Zahir gently in his arms to soothe him. The toddler's cries begin to quiet down as he nestles against his father's chest. As Tupac walks around, trying to calm Zahir, more people start to notice the scene.