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So, this tune—prolly some lo-fi hip-hop or trap beat, right? Got them heavy bass kicks, makin’ my damn speakers shake, and some sleazy synths slidin’ in like a pimp’s pinky ring flashin’. Lyrics? Bet they’re talkin’ ‘bout cruisin’ neon-lit corners, scopin’ for that late-night trade—shit’s real, not some polished radio crap. Reminds me of that *Social Network* line, “You don’t get to 500 million friends without makin’ a few enemies”—ha! Swap “friends” for “clients,” and you got a pimp’s anthem, motherfucker!

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. I mean, like, buckets! Everyone’s runnin’ for cover. I’m standin’ there, soaked to the bone, and I can’t help but laugh. I’m like, “This is just perfect!” But then, I see a kid slip on the wet grass. He goes down hard, and I’m like, “Ouch!” But he pops up, grinnin’ like a madman. Kids are tough, man.

Man charged with murder after woman found dead in New Plymouth home