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' Somethin' New . . . '
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'Da Shake Spot Compton, CA Sunday Winter 2023
1:45 PM
☹︎
"I'm sorry, kid, but I have to let you go."
He remained slouched in the rugged, pastel seat, an awkward blend of discomfort and resolve. His body was a taut coil of tension, while his face was as impassive as steel, a mask of stubborn masculinity hiding the turbulence within. At that moment, he didn't possess the energy or emotional capacity to react to the disappointing news given to him with a lack of empathy. It struck him with a weight heavier than the painful bruise encircling his left eye, a stark reminder of recent encounters. The inflammation bloomed in a devastating array of colors—deep purple at the edges, swirling into vivid blues and menacing blacks—each hue representing physical pain and a cascade of emotions that crashed around him like waves against a rocky shore.
"I can't tolerate that kind of behavior in my establishment."
"But he started it," Tazmin finally mustered the courage to speak up for himself. His voice emerged with a gravelly edge as he cleared the lingering hoarseness from his throat, acutely aware of how long he'd kept silent. The heated traction in the air hung heavily around him in the box office, hosting memorable plaques, pictures, and awards of achievements—amplifying the weight of his words as he prepared to defend his position.
The older, balding male sighed, intertwining his fingers and resting them on the ebony-toned desk. "Which is why I have to let you both go."
Tazmin glanced to one side of the room, jaw clenched. The sound of his Converse forcibly tapping the floor voiced hissed the frustration, fighting to come out of his bloody split lip.
