𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐖 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐓; nipsey hussle

𝟏𝟔 | 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

Sweetheart, you can't cry forever.

          THAT WAS THE LAST text message Lauren read from her father two months ago. She gulped in nervousness, fidgeting with her fingers, cramped in the back seat of a hot and smelly yellow cab with a non-working air conditioner.

Just great, she thought.

As Lauren stared out of the half-opened window of the cab, the city of her first home swift by quickly and with a breeze. Even though she recently visited for the celebration of her newly-released film and retirement from being on the big screen and left almost immediately after the nightclub fiasco, a lot has changed in recent years. There were less black-owned businesses and more liquor stores on every corner and the gangs have gotten younger.

A sudden feel of vibration coming from Lauren's phone sounded within a side pocket of her Louis Vuitton Damier Azur Sperone backpack. Picking it up, a text message from Adam displayed on the front screen from two minutes ago.

Dr. Rodriguez: Hoping your travels found you safe and sound, my sweet. Remember, I'll come running for you ❤️

It's been an entire two full weeks, which felt like months, since her husband's cheating scandal. He's done everything in his power to reach out and hear a word back from Lauren— even reaching out to her father, but she hasn't budged. After spending her last days back and forth between a hotel and Adam's place, that time allowed to her to realize that she needed time alone to herself. Time to reflect. Time to heal. Reading the message once more, her fingers began to type away with a response that is until the cab came to a severe jolted stop causing her open purse to fall quickly at her feet with personal items inside sliding and rolling underneath the front passenger seat.

"Excuse me, but have you heard of the term gradually stopping?" Lauren asked, emphasizing.

"S—Sorry ma'am."

The hands of the elderly, dark-skinned, Indian taxi driver gripped the top of the steering wheel as if in fear of his life. His chest cavity heaved up and down with perspiration appearing upon his forehead and eyes reverting back and forth between the empty roadway and Lauren through the rear view mirror.

"Um, it's okay?" said Lauren with a tone of confusion.

"I went passed the street s—sign a—again," he advised on the verge of tears.

"Street sign? What street sign?" Lauren asked as she quickly began grabbing for her personal items and shoving them back into her backpack.

She continued, "You mean Crenshaw?"

He nodded in agreement, "My b—boss... he— he says not allowed to drive into Crenshaw because gang."

"This is my three time this week. He's going to quit me and I need job for famil—"

"Hey, hey, hey listen to me," voiced Lauren, interrupting the driver from his babbling.

"It's okay. Everything's going to be fine. I won't tell if you don't. Deal?" she asks, holding out a few folded bills for her fair and a tip.

"What's deal?"

"Hmm. You know like an agreement or understanding."

The man smiles with excitement, "Thank you, ma'am. Please, let me help w—with bags," he spoke, exiting the driver's seat within a quickness.