Drillmington: When Julisia Returned from Europe

Julisia left for Prague on a Tuesday for new shoes and to personally pick out a luxury car that didn’t convert into a tactical vehicle. TSL waved her bye as the express van zipped her to the airport. He was by himself and could still smell her on himself.

After a quick shower, he dressed and came up with raps. He kept going over his rhymes that he wrote. He rehearsed his raps for his next show. It was two weeks from now when Julisia returned from Europe.

The way he looked at the words became illuminating. It became a place where there were enough people with their hands in the air, diligently expressing his rhymes. His flow elevated his content. That’s what separated him from other drill rappers. He paced the room and kept going over what he had written. It seemed to him that he should call her but then remembered that she should call him when she landed.

He drank some liquid cocaine. He watched some movies and TV. Then, it was time for him to return to his rhymes. He sipped some more. The smooth jolt from the drink coursed through his system like electricity through a cord. It enlivened him and granted him the space to be even more energetic.

The rhymes on the page became something more than just raps. They lived. They inhabited a place in his mind that led him to reach higher levels of greatness. He wrote with an intensity and a drive that kept him going until the midnight hour. In the time it took, he kept his eyes on a light in the corner. The illumination motivated him to memorize his rhymes.

“Mortina! Record!”

He rapped his aggressiveness, his pain, his misunderstanding, and ideals connected to living in Wilmington amongst the thieves, and the murderers. All of the angst and the anger mixed up in his mind pushed him to perfect the rhymes.

“Mortina! Stop Recording! Play repeat!”

The assistance service device played his rap over and over. He started sipping and walking in circles. He pulled out a pen and edited the remaining raps.

When he came to a line the phone rang.

“It's a call from Ju Ju. Answer it?”

“Yes.”

“We’re on the PJ. I’m sipping champagne and adjusting my watch.”

“Adjusting your watch? You have that time zone.”

“I mean on my wrist.”

“Great.”

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure you can take trips to Prague?”

“Ooh honey, don’t work too hard.”

“It’s about the timing. It’s all about the timing.”

“That’s right. We’ll talk about the house when I get back. I’ll tell you if we should move out of the country when I touch down.”

“I anticipate it, babe.”

“Your wit is too quick for me. I think the best thing to think about is your rap career. You’re using Mortina. That’s good.”

“I really enjoy it. My raps go right from the page to the mouth, to the recorder. It really helps.”

“That’s good.”

“Enjoy your stay, babe.”

“Thanks.”

TSL continued on his pathway of creation. The flow and the rhymes coalesced and he began considering producers to match beats with the rhymes. He would have to doctor the hook/bar/hook/bar structure. He used his timing as a wordsmith and as the top seller in Delaware to put himself in the highest position.

TSL sipped some more. He was mentally charged. The way that the cocaine interacted with his system allowed him to be a catalyst for him to be someone that took on his ideas like the professional he purported to be. He called Mortina and kept rhyming.