Chương 17: Just Another Day

Sunlight, a brazen intruder, sliced through the dusty blinds, slapping Arell awake. He groaned, his bones aching as he rustled in the sheets.

Rolling out of bed, he stretched, feeling the familiar pops and groans of a body pushed to its limits. Ignoring the protesting muscles, Arell launched into his new morning ritual. Pushups, crunches, jumping jacks - a symphony of grunts and determined breaths filled his room. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he finished the last set, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over him.

With a grimace, he shuffled to the bathroom, the cold tile a shock to his system. A quick shower washed away the remnants of sleep and sweat, leaving him feeling revitalized. He threw on a pair of comfortable joggers and a faded white tee.

Stepping into the living room, he was greeted by the thumping of a controller and the animated shouts of two of his best friends. Devon and Malik were locked in a heated battle on 2K, their brows furrowed in concentration as they strategized plays.

"Mornin', sunshine," Malik greeted, barely taking his eyes off the screen. Devon, however, paused the game, a playful smirk on his face.

"Look who finally decided to join the living," he jabbed. "Thought you got kidnapped by aliens last night or somethin'."

Arell chuckled. "Just had a late night, man."

"Late night huh?" Devon raised an eyebrow. "You went somewhere after the studio sesh?"

A flicker of something unreadable crossed Arell's face before he plastered on a casual grin. "Nah, man, just lost track of time in the zone. You know how it gets."

Devon wasn't convinced. He knew Arell well enough to spot a dodge when he saw one. "Uh-huh," he said, dragging out the sound.

Malik, who had been fiddling with his controller, then chimed in "So…." He drawed out "Can we get back to the game?"

Devon flashed him a wry grin before turning back to the TV centered in the room, the screen displayed a close-up of LeBron James, frustration etched on his face as the Spurs guard swiped the ball away with a lightning-fast steal.

"Whoa, Malik, what's going on here?" Arell teased, snatching a glimpse of the controller practically glued to Malik's hand. "The Cavs are looking lost out there, just like you."

Malik scowled playfully. "Shut up, man. Just one bad possession after another. Devon just been getting lucky three's."

Devon, a smug smile plastered across his face, rained down more playful jabs. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Looks like the King isn't enough to save you this time, Malik."

Arell rose from leaning on the worn sofa, the energy of his friends both comforting and a gentle nudge towards starting his day. "Alright, alright," he said, stretching with a yawn. "Catch you guys later. Gotta grab some breakfast."

Devon grunted from his controller-focused position, barely looking up. "Yeah, yeah, go get fueled up, champ. I'll be here wooping Malik ."

Malik, however, finally tore his gaze away from the screen. "Breakfast, huh? You sure you're not just avoiding another beatdown on 2K?" he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

Arell chuckled. "Remember what I did to you with the Warriors?" He teased as he headed for the door.

Just as he was about to step out, Malik called after him, "Hey, while you're out, maybe you should swing by that barber shop on Elm. You're starting to look like a wild animal."

Arell ran a hand through his hair, which admittedly was getting a bit unruly. "Yeah, maybe you're right," he conceded with a grin.

With that, he stepped out into the bustling hallway, habit propelled him to pat his pockets in a quick search – phone, wallet, keys. Everything felt present, yet a cold dread settled in his stomach. His hand instinctively went for the familiar weight of his gun in its usual holster, but it wasn't there. He'd left it back in his room after cleaning it last night.

Going back into the apartment, he glided past the playful banter of his friends, into his room where his velvet case happened to be resting atop his night stand, without any hesitance, he retrieved his gun from its case, the familiar weight a source of both comfort and unease. He checked the magazine, a silent reassurance in the quiet room. The weight of the weapon settled on his hip as he cast a final glance around the room before exiting.

"Alright, for real this time, I'm outta here," he announced to his friends who were ensnared by the animated characters dancing across the TV screen.

With a final, strained smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, Arell exited the apartment once more entering the hallway bathed in the harsh morning sun.

Sunlight streamed through the stairwell, casting long shadows that seemed to twist and writhe on the walls. He descended quickly, the metallic clang of his footsteps the only sound.

Emerging into the bustling parking lot, he spotted his car parked near the back. He unlocked the door with a practiced flick of his wrist and slid into the driver's seat. The engine roared to life, a comforting rumble that chased away some of the disquiet gnawing at him.

Food first, he decided. A full stomach might help clear his head. He pulled out of the lot, the city unfolding before him as he cruised through streets. He tapped his phone's navigation app, searching for something close to Lenox Square. A familiar logo popped up – subway. Perfect, with a tap, his order was placed, and a wave of normalcy washed over him.

As he navigated the traffic, his phone buzzed in the cupholder. It was Geoffrey, he answered with a distracted hello, his eyes scanning for the telltale yellow and green Subway sign.

"Arell," Geoffrey's baritone voice came smoothly through the phone. "I've got some news for you." Arell's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, momentarily forgetting about the Subway and focusing on Geoffrey's words. A spark of curiosity forming in his mind. "Hit me, Geoff. What's going on?"

"Its about Loyalty ties," Geoffrey continued, a hint of excitement lacing his voice. "The song you dropped last week. Consider it officially on fire. That boost you got from that system seems to have done wonders. Your song's at 200k views. Two hundred thousand Arell, in just a week, and your social media is gaining a steady following."

Arell's eyebrows shot up. 200k views? That was a jump, he huge jump. He glanced down at his phone, the image of the Subway momentarily forgotten. "Seriously? That fast?"

"Seriously," Geoffrey confirmed. "Your Twitter just hit 1,000 followers, and your Instagram is blowing up too."

A genuine grin spread across Arell's face. This was the kind of news he craved, the kind that fueled his creative fire. "Damn, Geoff, that's incredible! What are we gonna do about it?"

"Capitalize on it, of course. I'm already putting the wheels in motion. We need to strike while the iron's hot. I'm reaching out to camera crews to film a music video for 'Loyalty Ties'."

Arell's pulse quickened. A music video? This was a whole new level. "A music video, huh? You think we can pull it off that fast and would we even have the budget for it?" He exited the car, his phone pressed to his ear as he walked into the familiar aroma of Subway.

"The video doesn't have to be a Hollywood blockbuster, Arell," Geoffrey assured him, his voice maintaining its relaxed demeanor. "We can focus on capturing the raw energy of the song, the vibe you create with your lyrics. There are plenty of talented, local crews who can work with a reasonable budget. It's all about showcasing your talent and riding this wave of momentum." Arell paused by the counter, the excited chatter of the lunchtime crowd a backdrop to his conversation.

"Yeah, maybe some shots of the city that inspire me," he suggested, his voice laced with a newfound energy.

A young woman with a bright smile and a name tag that read 'Tasha' greeted him from behind the counter. "What can I get for you today, sir?"

"Uh, can I get a six-inch meatball sub on wheat, toasted?" Arell replied, momentarily distracted.

"Sure thing," Tasha confirmed, tapping away on the register. "Anything to drink with that?"

Arell glanced back at the menu board. "Just a bottle of water, please."

"Coming right up," Tasha chirped, her smile unwavering.

"Sounds like a plan," Geoffrey agreed on the other end of the phone. "We can brainstorm some creative ideas and put together a killer video that captures your essence as an artist. In the meantime, let's ride this wave for a bit. 'Loyalty Ties' is still climbing, and we don't want to saturate the market just yet."

Arell paid for his order, the weight of the phone a comforting presence in his hand. "So, hold off on releasing 'Blue Balenciagas' for now?"

"Exactly," Geoffrey confirmed. "Let's give 'Loyalty Ties' a week or two to keep building momentum. Then, we can start exploring interview opportunities and potential venues for some live shows. Once things settle a bit, we'll hit them with 'Blue Balenciagas' and keep the fire burning. We can even talk about dropping 'Granny Crib' after that, and maybe start scheduling some performances to solidify your presence in the local scene."

Arell took a bite of his sandwich, the familiar flavors grounding him amidst the whirlwind of excitement. "Sounds like a strategy, Geoff. I'm in."

"Great!" Geoffrey's voice boomed with satisfaction. "This is your moment, Arell. Let's grab it and run with it."

A grin stretched across Arell's face. This was the kind of pressure he thrived on. He thanked Geoffrey, the excitement bubbling over as he hung up the phone. With a final wave to the friendly Tasha, he grabbed his bag and exited the Subway, the city outside buzzing with a renewed energy that mirrored his own.

Sliding back into his car, he tapped his phone's navigation app once more. He was close to Lenox Square, and with the weight of the world seemingly lifted from his shoulders, he decided to treat himself. A quick search revealed a highly-rated barber shop just a few blocks away – "Faded Cuts." Perfect. A fresh cut and a clean slate seemed like the ideal way to kick off this new chapter.

He pulled into a parking spot near the barber shop, the rhythmic thump of hip-hop spilling out onto the sidewalk. Stepping inside, the shop was a haven of classic barber vibes. Gleaming chrome barber chairs lined the walls, occupied by a diverse clientele. An older Black man, mid-sixties with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, greeted him from behind a worn leather counter. He had a kind smile etched around his eyes that crinkled at the corners.

"Welcome to Faded Cuts, young man," the man boomed in a warm, gravelly voice. "You need a seat, or just browsing?"

"Hey there, sir," Arell replied, returning the smile. "I'd like a haircut, please. Name's Arell."

The man chuckled, a deep rumble that seemed to emanate from his belly. "Well, Arell, that can definitely be arranged. Looks like you have a few ahead of you, though. Take a seat over there next to Pops, and I'll be with you shortly."

Arell nodded, taking in the scene. A couple of older gentlemen with silver hair debated the merits of the latest baseball game, while a group of young adults scrolled through their phones, occasionally throwing out quick jokes. He settled into the chair next to Pops.

Time seemed to melt away as Arell scrolled through social media, catching glimpses of the growing buzz around his song. Every like, every comment, fueled his excitement. He barely noticed the barbers working their magic on the clients ahead of him.

Finally, the warm, gravelly voice cut through his digital world. "Alright, Arell, you're up next!"

He looked up with a smile, a surge of anticipation coursing through him. As he hopped into the barber's chair, a chrome throne adorned with worn red leather, a quick glance in the mirror caught him by surprise. His hair was a mess, a tangled forest of curls that had rebelled against any attempt at control in the past few days. Another thing struck him – his mustache had grown out a bit more, thicker and fuller than he usually kept it.

'Thats what prison does to you I suppose.'

"What can I do for you today, young man?" The barber, whose name tag read "Mr. Johnson," asked with a smile. His weathered hands held a pair of clippers with the practiced ease of a seasoned artist.

"How about a clean taper fade, and maybe a nice sharp line-up on the hairline?"

Mr. Johnson's smile widened. "Excellent choice, young man. A classic taper fade never goes out of style. And a sharp line-up will definitely keep things fresh. You in a rush, or do you have some time to relax?"

Arell settled back in the chair, a sense of calm washing over him. The whirlwind of the day seemed to slow down a bit. "I've got some time," he replied, pulling out his phone to check his social media again. He could handle a fresh start, one clean cut at a time. The music video, the interviews, the performances – they could all wait. Right now, the shop's familiar hum and the comforting chatter were exactly what he needed.

Mr. Johnson, with practiced ease, draped a barber's cape around Arell's shoulders and began prepping his clippers. As he buzzed off the excess hair on the sides, his voice filled the air, a friendly rumble punctuated by the rhythmic snip of the scissors.

"So, Marvin," Mr. Johnson addressed an older gentleman across the room, their conversation seamlessly picking up from an earlier pause, "did you catch that game last night? What a buzzer beater!"

Marvin, a man with a neatly trimmed afro and a mischievous glint in his eye, chuckled. "Almost gave me a heart attack, Johnson! But gotta give it to the young fella, that was a heck of a shot."

Arell zoned out for a moment, enjoying the comfortable banter. Suddenly, Mr. Johnson spun his chair to start trimming the left side of his head. Just then, another voice chimed in from behind them.

"Hey, isn't that…?" The voice, raspy with age, trailed off in surprise.

Mr. Johnson paused mid-snip, his brow furrowing slightly. He glanced at the man in the reflection of the mirror behind Arell. The man was perched on a barber's chair across the room, a newspaper folded open in his lap.

"Isn't that who, Harold?" Mr. Johnson prompted, his voice laced with a hint of curiosity.

Harold peered over the top of his newspaper, squinting at Arell's reflection. "Hold on a minute…" He mumbled, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then, a spark of recognition ignited in his eyes. "Ain't that the young fella who made that song? You know, the one you like, Marvin? Uhh, what's it called again…?"

Marvin, still chuckling over the basketball conversation, scratched his head in thought. "Let me think, Harold… the catchy one? The one I was playing earlier?"

Arell's heart skipped a beat. Could it be? Were they talking about his song? He suppressed a grin, trying to appear nonchalant as he pretended to be engrossed in his phone.

"Yeah, that's the one!" Harold exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "Loyalty Ties! That's it. You said you couldn't get that tune out of your head for days, Marvin."

Mr. Johnson chuckled, the tension leaving his shoulders. He turned back to Arell, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, well, well, look at who we have here, fellas! Seems like I'm cutting the hair of a rising star today."

A nervous chuckle escaped Arell's lips. He couldn't hold back the grin any longer. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, catching Mr. Johnson's playful wink.

"Looks like my secret's out, huh?" Arell admitted, a touch of surprise laced with amusement in his voice.

"Seems that way, young man," Mr. Johnson chuckled, expertly maneuvering the clippers around Arell's ear. "Never thought I'd be cutting the hair of a celebrity in my barber shop."

Harold leaned forward in his chair, his newspaper forgotten. "That song, Loyalty Ties, it's got a real good beat, son. Catchy lyrics too. Been stuck in my head for days, just like Marvin here was sayin'."

Marvin, a wide grin splitting his face, reached over and playfully swatted at Harold's arm. "Hey, speak for yourself, old man! But seriously, good work, kid. Keep it up. You got real talent."

Arell felt a warmth spread through him, a genuine appreciation for this unexpected moment of recognition. "Thanks, man," he replied, nodding at Marvin. "I really appreciate that."

Harold, however, seemed to have a different train of thought. His smile faded slightly, replaced by a touch of concern. "Just a word of advice, young fella," he said, his voice raspy but firm. "Stay away from the wrong crowd, you hear? Especially those YFN and YSL boys. They be running around Atlanta like they own it, causing all sorts of trouble."

Arell blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation, the encounter from days ago flashing in the back of his mind. "Uh, yeah, I hear you," he mumbled, unsure of how to respond.

Johnson, sensing the tension, intervened with a chuckle. "Alright, Harold, let's not scare the young man away."

The conversation shifted gears, the rhythmic snip of the clippers providing a comforting backdrop. Marvin, ever the sports enthusiast, leaned forward in his chair. "So, young fella," he said, a playful glint in his eye, "with all this music success coming your way, you still have time to keep up with the games? Who's your team?"

Arell considered the question for a moment. Basketball had always been a passion of his, a way to unwind and channel his energy. "Gotta go with the Warriors," he declared with a grin. "Their teamwork is something else, and who can deny the magic of Steph Curry?"

A smile bloomed on Marvin's face. "Ah, a man of culture! Can't argue with that. Warriors all the way, baby!"

Harold chuckled, shaking his head but a twinkle in his eye. "You youngsters and your fancy teams. Back in my day, it was all about the Celtics!"

The conversation flowed easily, filled with good-natured ribbing and shared stories. As Arell relaxed under Mr. Johnson's practiced touch, the weight of the day seemed to lift. This little barbershop, with its familiar scent of hairspray and cologne, felt like a haven, a temporary escape from the whirlwind that awaited him.