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Hell and Heroin

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If there was a hell, the Bronx was it. The demons, monsters, and other ungodly creatures knew it all too well. The wolves were in constant conflict with the lamia, whether it was a turf war or racism, plain and simple. Demons wanted to torment everyone for the fun of it. Some humans had banded together against the subhumans that lived among them for millennia in hopes for some sort of control, while others were just trying to live their lives.

Zeke, in all his lanky, dopey-faced glory, was actually in a good place. He and his butterscotch, sugar sweet boo thang, Mylene, had permanently separated. She wrote him a quickly scribbled letter from the shores of California saying that it was unfair for both of them to wait for each other and he took it well. His internship was starting to pay him, even! Some higher ups at the firm said that it was "the modern era" and there needed to be more diversity. By diversity, they really meant some poster people for the subhuman community, but Ezekiel Figuero wasn't one to turn down money.

He was leaving the skyscraper that was his office and hit the streets, making his way to his favorite place on Earth. He passed dozens of people who looked tired from a long days work, but Zeke was in the face of the sun and looked fucking radiant. His blindingly white canines peeked from past his lips stretched in a content grin; a resting-nice-face of sorts. His time in the sun was short lived when he had to descend the stairs into the subway. The train ride was longer than usual, but it gave the wordsmith time to type up some poetry and potential lyrics on his phone. His clawed hands tapped rhythmically to a song in his head and hummed into the microphone on his headphones, recording the sound and sending it to The Get Down Bruddas group chat. Zeke's phone buzzed obnoxiously with the flood of texts he got in return.

Pretty Dizzee D: That's poppin, are we gonna use that at the next rehearsal??

The Wordsmith: Maybe. Idk. It's a little slow for a TGD performance, but you never know. I might doctor it up.

Sun God: Bet! We're still on for Saturday???

Boo Bear: Mhmm

The Wordsmith: Yep.

Boo Bear: Aight Z we gotta bounce so say hi to your boyfriend for us when you see him!!

Pretty Dizzee D: Facts. See y'all tomorrow

Before Zeke could even reply a ‘fuck you’ or say anything to dispute the Kipling’s claims, he was at his stop. He walked off the platform so flushed that he almost looked like some of the demons in the train station. The poet stepped out in a hurry and immediately made his way onto the sidewalk, still looking angelic, but a little flustered. Zeke slipped past the gentrified indie coffee shops and niche collection stores into one of the last remaining bodegas in the Bronx.

“Ay!¿Quién es? Whatchu want?” An elderly goblin lady yelled from behind the counter. She couldn't really see Zeke, but by the time she got up onto her stool, he had already picked up what he needed and laid it out on the counter for her. He had been going to that store from the jump, so he had a system and a routine.

“Hola, Nena.” Zeke said with a wide smile, showing off his upper and lower canines. “You know what it is. ¿Como está? I haven't been round in a while.”

Nena bagged up Zeke's snacks and took the cash and coins from his hand. She went on a mini rant about her grandkids, but nothing extremely interesting. He made small talk about his own life and went towards the door.

“Adios, perrito! Tell your tia I said 'hi’, okay?”

As soon as the bodega door closed, the wordsmith took a swing of his Diet Dr. Pepper. He kept walking and soon found himself in the presence of no one. Zeke picked up his speed and gradually lifted from the ground. Soon enough, he was at his destination. There were no doors on the first floor of the building in front of him because the only people allowed in were people who could make it to the top. Zeke simply loved the excuse to show off his abilities, even if it's just for himself. The MC planted his feet square on the concrete and with a bend of the knees, jumped the 60-some feet to the opening above. Zeke hovered by the window for a little bit before knocking, suddenly getting anxious. His knuckles rapped on the window in a familiar pattern until he heard the slide of the lock. He backed up a little bit, but he couldn't help but break open a big ass smile for his Rapunzel in the tower.

“Hey, Books.”