"I don’t think I could ever quite understand her. "

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The Art in Motion, San Francisco, California                                                                                1st January 2031

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3    …       2    ..    1.                               

(CROWD CLAPS AS THE RIBBON IS CUT.)

***

"This is it, my n*gga. You did it."

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"We did it.

I reminded Kevlar.

The shine AIN'T FOR ME ALONE. We Built this sh*t together."

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 "If it wasn't for the nights spent networking with all of them —"

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"Feens," he interrupted.

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"Right, feens...we wouldn't be standing here right now living instead of surviving,"

I continued.

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"Why you always gotta get so POETIC? You know I only speak one language... 

and that’s English n*gga,” Kevlar replied hysterically.

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(BEEPER STARTS BEEPING, KEVLAR checks his PHONE AND RECOGNISES NUMBER)

"Anyway, hold up a sec," he says, casually pulling out a beeper from his pocket. "Gotta take this call real quick. Can't let all this success go to our heads just yet." 

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INTRO

Ain't many folks out there still rocking beepers these days, but Kevlar always had that smooth, old-school charm.

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Kevlar was a simple man with simple tastes, but he was blood. Loyal to the cause, and loyal to me. I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side on this wild ride.

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The time had come to pop bottles, as we celebrated the grand opening of our first mood-board gallery in Cali. Another milestone smashed.

When I was a kid, a day like this was once upon a time only a dream that I tried to design relentlessly. 

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As soon as I stepped onto that purple carpet, everything made sense.

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It lead me straight to those big ass glass doors, surrounded by the most gentle auxiliary architecture you did ever see.

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And let me tell you, these weren't just any ol' glass doors - they were a damn masterpiece.

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The gallery itself was a work of art, too.

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As I stepped into the gallery, I found myself in a narrow dark tunnel.
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The walls were painted in a deep shade of emerald, and the ceiling was a masterpiece of fine Italian craftsmanship.
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Ambient purple lights illuminated my path, guiding my feet further into the exhibition.
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As I strolled through, the walls dripped with tantalizing paintings that were unevenly but perfectly lined up for aesthetic purposes.

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The paintings mocked what came on the other side of the tunnel - a gallery that exuded an aura that spoke louder than any of the art on display. It was like stepping into a whole different universe.

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Inspired by the works of Mies Van Der Rohe and executed by a team of dedicated organizers, Creativity was unavoidable.

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AN AURA BY TEN

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"Luxurious Intimacy.." I thought to myself as I watched our guests f*ck with the sh*t they paid for.

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Being a curator of such a moment of greatness was a savage feeling, but it was an even greater feeling to witness others sharing this vivid experience with us.

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Complimentary champagne was served upon arrival by the finest women in the industry, ensuring our first-ever VIP list knew that standards were set. But their attention was soon taken by the classy and intimate space they were entering.

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A fine example of Modern construction was on display, and we were delivering something that had not been seen before. Anyone with expensive taste knew they were indulging in a flavor they could get addicted to. We were serving crack to the caviar n*ggas. 

"The Art in Motion" had it all. 

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And yet, it still felt like something was missing…

90 minutes went by before a masterpiece walked in and changed the room's vibration.

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As a lover of fine art.. and some fine ass, she was impossible to miss. With purpose in her step, she sized up each painting as if she were a connoisseur of the arts. 

Having just finished answering questions from starved reporters, indulging in a glass or two, and parlaying with high-valued potential clients, I finally felt relaxed.

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And then she walked past me.

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While I regrouped with Kevlar and another 'promising' idea of a partner to collaborate with on the expansion of "TEN PAST ELEVEN," the corner of my eye caught light of a bright, curvy shadow moving across the room.

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Suddenly, the only thing I could hear was the sound of her heels clacking in a room that was already filled with jazz and smooth high-life laughter.

For a minute, I couldn't mind the business that paid me.

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REALITY CHECK

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(KEVLAR SNAPS MR.10 BACK INTO REALITY)‍

“So what you saying, 10?” Kevlar asked, his voice edged with suspicion. “Do you think this Jay Z wannabe got our best interests at heart?” 

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“Look K, the industry ain’t ever been nice to n*ggas like you and me” Joey interjected. “But I gotta make dough somehow. Besides, this game is —“

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“Game!? What you know about game? Game recognises game and you're looking real unfamiliar right now,” Kevlar shot back.

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“K, maybe you oughta listen to Joey over here.  Furthermore, it ain’t even about the paper right now” I responded, clueless to the situation, distracted by the Purple Lady that had caught my attention.

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Kevlar caught me lacking. He knew that a ten took my focus but before he could say anything he was also raided by the view.

And who would he be if if he didn’t make his thoughts known in the room?

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“Dammnnnnn,”

Kevlar made his thoughts known to the room.

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To avoid eyes lurking,  I swiftly shifted my gaze and acted like I had been choppin’ it with ol’ lady Badu standing right beside me with her Gucci’d up Chihuahua she carried like it was a newborn. 

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Even at our own opening, hood habits shadow us. I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow that the dog was here in the first place, but that ain't even my main concern right now.

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I had to smooth things over for Kevlar's latest antics. But someway, somehow, Kevlar had created an opportunity for me to pull the trigger and a n*gga like me never misses an assist.

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Damn, shorty was fine and she knew she was getting some looks. But she didn't seem too happy about it.

Gonna have to find out why. 

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Flav' was comin' in clutch, and luckily she was checkin' out my favorite piece before Kevlar's reaction made her feel some type of way.

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SMOOTH TRANSITION

(MR.10  WALKS TOWARDS HER AND MAKES HIS MOVE)

"One of a kind, ain't it?" I asked, taking a moment to admire the fourteen-year-old painting.

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 "They call it Breathless. Multiple kisses, served by multiple women that could make a man believe they can live without air. The beauty of this well-executed piece lies in its ability to convey its message subconsciously, with a tendency to draw in gorgeous women," I explained.

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"Ohh.. and what is this.., emphatic message?" she responded, her attention now fully captured by the painting as she tried to understand its purpose.

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Well, my real ones, take this scene in carefully.

Right in front of you, we got a classic example of an 'independent woman' trying to downplay my swag, actin' all stubborn like she ain't gonna fall for it.

But deep down, you can see her mind's already twisted up, thinking she's "been here before,

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Now she's trying to avoid guys like me cause "we are "no good." 

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Not gonna lie; I love women like her. She's my favorite type beat.

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SMOOTH TRANSITION II

(10 PROCEEDS TO ANSWER THE QUESTION)

“There's this whole notion that hood guys can't love right, like they ain't familiar with it. However, with a different perspective, one might realize that identifying a true lover is no easy task.

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"Interesting.. tell me more," she responded, her tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. But I ain't one to back down, so I kept spitting my truth.

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"It's like this... - I let out a deliberate sigh for dramatic effect - It's all about stayin' woke, you feel me?"

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There’s no room for falling for fake love, especially when it comes wrapped in a kiss. But at the end of the night, love sticks stronger than glue, you know? The heart knows what's real, even if the mind wants to front."

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CHAMPAGNE NIGHTS

While we exchanged words and time, my attention shifted from the painting to her. Damn, she was shining like a star. Standing at five foot five with flawless features, wearing those heels with the purple soles they always talk about and a well-fitted, statement minidress to compliment it. But it wasn't just her looks that had me intrigued.

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There was something about her smile that brought back memories, a feeling that took me back in time. And that smile, man, it was infectious. I couldn't help but feel drawn to her, even though something felt off, somethin' I couldn't quite put my finger on.

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"Never changed, have you?" she said unsurprisingly.

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She's been toying with me this whole time, and there was only one person I knew that had the ability to make shit complicated.

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"Imani?! "I said shockingly. 

Although I felt embarrassed from the efforts of my nectar-filled rizz, I couldn't believe this golden encounter.

it had been what, twelve whole years? I never thought I'd ever see her again.

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OCEAN NOSTALGIA

The flashbacks hit me all at once, reminding me of what I could’ve probably had if I didn’t let things that were out of my control consume me.

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It also reminded my that I probably made the right decision for myself.  Yet, I am grateful for the adventure I shared with her.

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Them days weren’t so easy and many factors decided the outcome of things, but regardless of the fact, I tried.

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Infatuation. So young and so lost. She was one of the reasons I admire women, but was also one of the reasons why I struggled to find the balance.

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I never truly understood how I felt towards her, but I always knew there was a thing about her. She was a free spirit or something. Never shy about the sh*t she do and she definitely wasn't sorry about her thoughts,  ideas , and secrets.

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I just couldn’t understand why, no matter how hard i tried.

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‘Trust no one’ was the motto I grew up with because no one was able to live up to it, yet I still felt vulnerable around her.

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Maybe it was the way she held a n*gga down, A rare feeling. Whatever it was, it was a glass of relief. 

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IMANI

“Ten” she said softly.

Followed by a warm hug. The vibe never left. 

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“i Heard that you were in the city, and since you were expanding in my backyard, I figured it was only right that i came with a welcoming gift or whatever. But you know me, you got to earn it.

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“..Thanks for the thought, but all i see in your hands is a little pink kit bag with some — “proceeds to grab the kit and see what was inside -  “measuring tape , pencils and a camera. You tryna be the next Amy Sherald huh?”

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“..Something like that." she responded. " You shouldn’t really know this but I'm here to review some of your pieces for an article."

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“Ohhh so you be running with them art folks now?” I asked, amused by her field of work that demands a fine eye for aesthetics.

She wasn't the same girl I knew, and she definitely didn't look the same neither.

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Sneering at my remark, Imani didn't fail to let me know that she's still that girl. She never misses a beat.

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"I run an entire organisation of them art folks.” She purred, her tone dripping with sultry confidence.

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And when I found out you were in town, I knew I had to make a move. and everything seems to be coming together just the way you planned

... mmm, I really like that." 

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She held my gaze, her eyes smoldering with desire. In that moment, I felt like a kid again, caught up in the intensity of the 10connection between us..

Had the vibe ever left?

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GOODNIGHT, GOODMORNING

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We continued our conversation at the gallery, sipping on nostalgia and excitement like it was the finest champagne. And when the night drew to a close, we went our separate ways, with our final words shared through the phone while she hopped into an Uber the next morning. 

regrettably, the only thing that seemed to vibrate between us this time was the bedroom. I never got the chance to fully explore her again.

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She’s different, no doubt, but she just wasn’t for me, And you know what? I'm cool with that as long as she's comfortable in her own skin. As long as she embraces who she truly is.

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Maybe she wasn't the one for me. but all i knew was, she was a ten.

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I don't think I could ever understand her but maybe I didn’t need to and that was the beauty of it. She was supposed to be felt.

She is her comfort.

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This is day 001 - Comfort.

#10OUT

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