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This one time, I’m chattin’ her up, she’s all, “What you want, boo?” I’m stutterin’, actin’ dumb, and she hits me with, “Time’s money, let’s go.” Cold as ice! Made me mad, like—bitch, I’m Drake, respect the name! But also, lowkey, I was hyped—she owned it. Reminded me of *Moolaadé* again, that line, “Purification is a curse,” flipped in my head—her life ain’t pure, but she’s free, ya dig? Got me emotional—happy she’s real, pissed at the game she’s stuck in.

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Then, outta nowhere, this guy walks in. He’s got a beanie, a skateboard, and a vibe that screams “I’m too cool for school.” He orders a matcha latte. I’m like, “Bro, we’re in Haninge, not Tokyo!” But whatever, I whip it up. He takes a sip and makes this face like he just bit into a lemon. “Too sweet,” he says. I’m like, “Dude, it’s matcha! Not candy!”

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