In Search Of - A Childish Gambino story

Chapter 1

Donald

"We gon’ have a party

All my friends will be there

We drink all the vodka

There’s music everywhere..”

"Funny how they all showed up because of a tweet.." I said to AJ, looking around at the crowd of people that filled my place.

"Bout to turn this place the entire fuck up." He cracked his knuckles and began his set.

"Smoke Again" started to fill the wide space and bodies immediately started to grind. Fam jogged up to the 1’s and 2’s with blunts and lighters ready for all of us.

"I’ve never seen so many curly headed bitches in my damn life, I might just smoke em’ all out." he chuckled, lighting the end of his blunt.

"It’s like my whole Instagram feed came through or some shit." Chance said, "Wonder if any of em do acid…" He murmured under his breath, looking around for the lucky girl.

"Who knows," I replied. "These girls do anything these days." 

Just then, he pulled a cig out of his back pocket and attempted to light it.

"Come on man, light that shit outside." He lit it anyways.

"It’s a party, nigga!" Next thing I know, he’s yelling out the lyrics in my ear.

"FLAMIN HOTS WITH CHEEEEEEESE, AND A KIWI MISTIC. MY DICK WON’T EVEN CALL HER, CUZ SHE LEFT ALL THAT LIPSTIIIICK."

"Man get the fuck away from me." I shoved him away and he mingled with his instagram girls shortly after.

Within the next hour, or so (I think, I’m insanely high) Everyone Nose by N.E.R.D. spilled from the speaker systems causing chaos and awkward cringe-worthy dancing from the white partiers. I mean..it was the remix. 

"Now wait a minute

Do you like to party?

Cause if you don’t

Don’t come over here..”

My lips adorned the rim of a solo red cup some groupie handed me. I scanned the crowded living room for someone to talk to - maybe penetrate, so I can stay as far away from my sober thoughts as humanly possible. This skinny white girl was doing the same thing, except when she looked away some grimy ass nigga dropped - what appeared to be a molly - into her drink. I was too fucked up to care. But I did put down my drink.

At one point I could’ve sworn I saw someone go into my room, but whatever whiskey I’d already swallowed came into affect so I couldn’t find a fuck to give. I had to find a place to chill. I weaved through a medley of sweaty bodies and drunk groupies - all of which were eating all of the food in my fridge. My home looks like a topic of a bad top-40 pop song.

"Fucking stoked for you dude!"

A heavy hand connected with my shoulder.

"Tyler?" I blinked, trying to connect names with faces is the hardest for me right now. Even familiar ones.

"Yeah nigga, we decided to drop in this bitch earlier and your faggot ass wasn’t here!" His voice strained over the music.

"Yeah, Ludwig was the only one here, in the studio."

"That’s why I’m stoked, nigga! Those beats are fuckin tight." He replied, slapping my shoulder - again.

"Yeah..thanks man."