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DISCLAIMER !! ‼️
Before we begin, I changed the year from 97, to 99. It fits the theme and tone of where this story is going . . .
Chapter 4: Quiet Don't Mean Peace
Barry Farms, Washington D.C., Summer 1999 — Same Night—hours later
Jerome "Rome" King
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Most people don't hear it.
The shift.
That lil' hum the world make right before it crack.
But me? I heard it. Loud. Felt it in the teeth of the air. Like metal grindin' under the pavement.
I knew the second Malik got hit, we were next.
I was on the roof of Barry Farm, leanin' against the old vent shaft with a Black & Mild burnin' slow. From up here, I can see everything: alleyways, busted pay-phones, fire escapes. Whole block's a board game and everybody movin' like they already lost.
