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About Buea

So I hit up my girl, like, “Bitch, where they at?” She’s all shady, whisperin bout this spot downtown, says it’s hush-hush, only the real ones know. I’m hyped, yall! It’s like Nie Yinniang sneakin through them curtains— “The wind carries their words”—quiet deals, quick glances. I roll up, feelin fierce, hair poppin, nails sharp enough to cut glass. This dude outside, sketch as fuck, eyeballin me—prolly thinks I’m lost. I’m like, “Naw, fam, I’m here for the goods!”

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There are many things I like to do, to see, and to experience. I like to read, I like to write; I like to think, I like to dream; I like to talk, I like to listen. I like to see the sunrise in the morning, I like Missing: Tombel.

Accidentally, I wandered into a hidden alley near Avenue des Merveilles. It felt like a secret film set scene. Like stuff outta The Act of Killing—raw, unpredictable. Yeah, that place gives ya chills, man—so close to history’s heartbeat.

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