Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Oh we bringing up receipts?? I got you.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Yassy talking about having this man babies like she ain’t thinking about yeeting his fetus into Lake Michigan. A damn lie just like her man.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Season 7, Episode 17 - Season Finale
Mark paced back and forth in his dimly lit home office, phone pressed tightly against his ear.
"We’ve been doing this for weeks now, bordering on months," Mark interrupted, his voice low but firm. "I understand you have your process, but Kam doesn't have the luxury of time here. He's got offers from other schools already, offers he’s prepared to sign.”
The voice on the other end started to protest, but Mark cut them off again. "No, listen. I've been patient. We've been patient. But I'm telling you right now, you have until the end of the day today to give Kam a committable offer." He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Otherwise, I promise you, you'll be watching him score touchdowns against you in a few months."
The silence on the other end of the line stretched out, taut as a wire. Mark could almost hear the gears turning in their heads, weighing the risk against the potential. He looked out the window, timing the perfect moment for him to end the call.
…
The clanging of weights echoed through the cavernous gym, a rhythmic backdrop to Kam's distracted thoughts. He moved through his routine mechanically, his muscles remembering what his mind couldn't focus on.
Kam's eyes kept drifting to the clock on the wall, its hands seeming to move in slow motion. He'd made his decision, but the weight of it sat like a stone in his stomach. The gym, which he had hoped would be a sanctuary, felt suffocating that night.
His phone buzzed on the bench beside him, the screen lighting up with a message. Jasmine's name flashed across the top, and Kam's heart rate picked up in a way that had nothing to do with his workout. He wiped his palms on his shorts before picking up the phone, reading her invitation to hang out.
Kam's thumb hovered over the screen, indecision gnawing at him. He and Yassy had just smoothed things over, the memory of their reconciliation still fresh. Going to see Jasmine felt like a betrayal, a step backward, even if it was an innocent night of drinks with a friend.
His hand drifted to the chain around his neck, heavy and solid. For the first time, he had the means to impress Jasmine, to show her he wasn't just that high school kid that was Marcus’ hanger on. The wounded puppy that she had nursed to life.
The temptation was intoxicating. He didn’t want to fuck her, he just wanted to impress her and what was the harm in that? He had worked so hard to be able to afford those things, it was only right that he exorcised that right.
Kam's fingers moved almost of their own accord, typing out a response to Jasmine. Before Kam could hit send, his phone vibrated in his hand, Mark's name flashing across the screen. He hesitated, thumb hovering over the half-written message. With a deep breath, he swiped to answer Mark's call.
"Hey, Mark. What's up?" Kam answered, a bit annoyed by the interruption.
"All the schools put in their final offers," Mark's voice crackled through the speaker, excitement barely contained. "It’s around what we expected. You’re sticking with your pick?”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Kam gripped the edge of the weight bench, steadying himself as the news washed over him.
"Wow, that’s…that’s fucking crazy," Kam managed, his voice barely above a whisper. The gym around him faded away, thinking back to that night in that cell. The decisions he made that got him there, the decisions he’s made since.
As Mark continued talking, outlining the details of the offers and next steps, Kam's eyes drifted back to his phone screen. Jasmine's message still sat there, even more trivial in retrospect. A twinge of guilt twisted in his gut, the weight of the decision he had made setting heavily on his shoulders.
…
Boog slumped onto his bunk, the thin mattress creaking under his weight. He replayed the domino game in his mind, convinced the other inmate had pulled some slick moves to win. But he'd walked away - no sense stirring up more trouble over a game, especially in a new unit.
As he lay there stewing, a commotion erupted from the day room down the hall. Raised voices and the sound of furniture scraping across concrete floors echoed off the cinderblock walls. Boog sat up, ears perked. A fight breaking out wasn't uncommon, but still entertaining nonetheless.
He shuffled to his cell door, peering out through the small window. Other inmates were gathering, drawn by the noise like moths to a flame. Curiosity got the better of him. Boog stepped out, following the growing crowd towards the day room.
The scene that greeted him was chaos. Tables overturned, plastic chairs scattered like fallen soldiers. In the center, a knot of inmates grappled and swung wildly at each other. Guards shouted ineffectually from the edges, hesitant to wade into the fray.
Boog edged closer, trying to make out who was involved as he was still in the process of putting names to faces, having only been on the unit for a few days.
Lost in the spectacle, Boog didn't notice the figure approaching from his blind spot. The first stab caught him completely by surprise - a sharp, burning pain in his lower back that stole his breath. Before he could react, a second blow landed, then a third in rapid succession.
Boog stumbled, his legs giving out beneath him as he stumbled into the huddled inmates in front of him. They brushed him off, still focused on the fight playing out in front of them. The cold concrete floor rose up to meet him as the world tilted sideways. Warmth spread across his back, soaking through his jumpsuit. The shouts and scuffling faded, replaced by a high-pitched ringing in his ears.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Kam better get that money to Yassy so she can put money on his books because he going to JAIL
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 4987
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
This man is a KILLER.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Y'all was akiki about him going to jail and being somebody's bitch so son had to step up and make sure that ain't happen. Check ball, nigga.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
Season 8, Episode 1
Kam's heart raced as he approached the practice field, the towering brick building looming before him like an impenetrable fortress. The crisp autumn air carried an essemble of voices - angry shouts mixing with supportive cheers. As he drew closer, Kam saw the sea of bodies surrounding the entrance, many holding colorful signs with slogans like "No Killers on Campus" and "Safety Over Sports."
He was no stranger to criticism or controversy, the past few years of his life layered with both but this landed differently.
"Look alive, now! We hitting today, you feel me? You gonna have to show me what a million dollars look likes, playboy!"
Kam turned to see his new teammate Ja’Darius grinning at him, adjusting his gloves as they trotted towards the indoor facility.
"Don't sweat them motherfuckers, man," Ja’Darius said, nodding towards the protesters. "They'll find something new to be mad about next week."
…
Lana stared out the window of the production van as it bounced along the dusty desert road. The stark New Mexico landscape stretched endlessly in all directions, a sea of ochre sand dotted with scrub brush and the occasional gnarled juniper. The oppressive heat shimmered off the pavement, creating mirages that danced on the horizon.
She clutched her laptop bag tightly, another long day ahead of her. The first few days on set were exciting, hoping to prove her worth beyond fetching coffee and making copies. But nothing had changed, except she was now without the comfort of living in a proper city.
The van pulled up to a sprawling collection of trailers and tents that had sprung up in the middle of nowhere. People scurried about like ants, hauling equipment and shouting instructions. Lana stumbled out into the blinding sunlight, squinting as she took in the organized chaos.
"Dam girl! You’re making us look bad," a voice called out. Lana turned to see Margo, one of the staff writers, waving her over. "We look like we’re wearing trash bags compared to you."
Lana blushed, accepting the compliment with a polite smile but was quickly reminded of her place.
“Grab that box of and follow me. We've got a table read in five."
Lana hefted the heavy box, her arms straining as she hurried after Margo's retreating form. They weaved through the maze of trailers until they reached a large tent where the cast and crew were assembling.
She unpacked the box and began distributing the scripts inside them, her favorite part of the day as she could overhear snippets of conversation. There were grumblings about the remote location, complaints about the catering, and excited chatter about the show's potential. She felt a spark of pride, knowing she had contributed, however minimally, to the words on these pages.
The table read began, and Lana found herself mesmerized by the way the actors brought the characters to life. It was so different from the sterile writers' room where they had hashed out plot points and character arcs. Here, in the unforgiving desert, their creation was taking its first breaths.
As the read progressed, Lana noticed the showrunner frowning and scribbling notes. Her stomach clenched with anxiety. What if they needed rewrites? Would she be able to contribute anything of value? The pressure of proving herself weighed heavily on her shoulders, as vast and unyielding as the New Mexico sky above them.
…
Kam peeled off his sweat-soaked practice jersey, wincing as the fabric clung to his skin. The locker room buzzed with the usual post-practice chatter, but he kept his head down, focused on getting out of there as quickly as possible.
The cool water from the shower provided momentary relief, washing away the grime and tension of the day. Kam closed his eyes, letting the steady stream drum against his scalp, wishing he could stay there and let the world outside fade away. But reality called, and he reluctantly shut off the water, grabbing a towel and heading back to his locker.
He dressed hurriedly, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt that still smelled faintly of laundry detergent.
As he shouldered his bag and turned to leave, a mountain of a man blocked his path. Desmond, the team captain who was likely going to pave the way for another All-American season for both of them, stood there with his arms crossed, a slight frown creasing his forehead.
"Where you think you going, Million Dollar Baby?" Desmond dapped him up, towering over Kam.
Kam had grown to accept the nickname, even if it was a few digits short of being accurate. "You know I’m pretty much on house arrest, bruh."
Desmond laughed him off, “I don’t care about any of that, you still coming with us, bro.”
“Y’all having dinner again?”
“Yeah, motherfucker,” Desmond scoffed, “I don’t know what y’all boys had going on down there in Lexington but we eat good around here.”
Kam had come to love the isolation of living by himself for the past two years, his quiet apartment serving as a solitary haven where he could shut the outside world. The prospect of being around his teammates for another couple of hours after spending all day with them seemed arduous, impossible even.
“I don’t know bruh,” Kam shook his head, “Raincheck?”
“Fuck no,” Blake stepped in, another one of his road graders, “You can jack off after.”
“You white boys always on some weird shit,” Kam shared a laugh with his fellow senior, “What’s on the menu then?”
…
Yassy sighed, rubbing her tired eyes as she stared at the jumble of notes spread across the library table, the words blurring together after hours of intense studying. She glanced at her watch - nearly midnight. The library was eerily quiet, most students having long since retreated to their dorms.
"Okay, let's go over this one more time," said Steven, his voice low but clear in the stillness. Yassy's classmate Cynthia nodded eagerly, leaning in closer to her boyfriend. Steven had a way of breaking down complex healthcare policies that made them seem almost simple. Almost.
Yassy tried to focus as Steven explained risk adjustment models, but her mind kept drifting. Six classes this semester had already began to take their toll. While her friends were out enjoying their senior year, she was here, buried under a mountain of coursework. The promise of graduating early in December kept her going, but some days the finish line seemed impossibly far away.
"Yassy? You still with us?" Cynthia's gentle nudge snapped her back to attention.
"Yeah, sorry," Yassy mumbled, forcing a smile. "Just trying to process it all."
Steven gave her a sympathetic look. "It's a lot to take in, I know. When I was in your shoes last year, I thought my brain would explode. He sort of frontloads the class but it gets easier afterwards."
"We’re not all geniuses like you," Cynthia teased, playfully rolling her eyes.
Yassy felt a pang of envy at their easy affection. Her own boyfriend was a few hundred miles away, once more relegated to the occasional FaceTime. Between her accelerated course load and his football schedule, finding time to connect was going to be a constant struggle with those weekend getaways no longer a guarantee.
She shook off the melancholy and refocused on her notes. "So the DRG system categorizes patients based on..." she began, determined to make this late-night cram session count.
Requiem for a Broken Dream.
So, he's at Michigan, right? (had to google their practice facility)
Lana going to come take Yassy man when she realizes how much money he got.
Lana going to come take Yassy man when she realizes how much money he got.