Me, You, and Mason

6

Sage should've been asleep. For his own health. For his thinning sanity.

But he was up, poring over pages of half-written lyrics and incomplete musings. He had so much to talk about; this month had been a whirlwind for our resident lover boy. But none of which had a home and wouldn't find one within the music currently playing.

Kenrō was suspended in the makings of a high, turning up the current instrumental blaring through tabletop speakers.

Somebody had finally gotten back to Sage about a feature.

After countless nights of putting Sage's talent in the ears of other artists, Ken finally found someone willing to put some action behind the words, "he's dope, would love to work with him."

So, here they were, writing and nodding to music void of lyrics, but only for a limited time. There were barely enough bars open to get a point across, let alone show all that Sage was capable of.

The dilemma of an artist: Saying what you need to say in a way that's unique, in a time frame that'll hold people's attention long enough and short enough to leave them wanting more.

Sage was wound up. The thought of the artist's dilemma was crowding his mind, leaving little room for creativity to bloom. Not to mention, the subject matter did little to move him.

It was the typical shit. Bitches and hoes, drugs and bros, and the tortured agony faced by an addict to the lifestyle. But at least it was kind of catchy.

"I don't know, man. I'm just not feelin' it," Sage shook his head.

"Huh?" Ken hadn't heard his friend over the brain-rattling bass of a rap beat. He didn't think to turn down the music, placing his efforts on listening harder instead.

"I'm not feelin' it!" Sage reiterated while slamming down his notepad of lyrics.

Ken glanced at the time. "We have been at this for a while. Maybe we can come back to it lat—"

"Nah, nah. It's not the fact that it's late. It's the fact that this song doesn't make sense for me."

"What do you mean?" It was through low eyes that Ken watched Sage stand from his seat.

"It doesn't fit me as an artist. It doesn't make sense to be on a song like this. That's not who I am anymore. That's not my brand."

Ken's face was blank as if none of Sage's words registered in his mind. Sage wasn't even sure if he had heard him, and just as he was parting his lips to ask, Ken scoffed.

"That's not your brand, then what is? That's not who you are, then who are you?" he quizzed.

"I'on know, man. But I ain't that," Sage shook his head.

Ken kissed his teeth and sat up in his swivel chair. Turning his back and crouching over the laptop's keyboard, he paused the music. Finally.

"Sit down, man," Ken threw the instruction over his shoulder. Sage caught it, easing back down in his own seat and picking up his notebook.

"Look, Sage. I get it. You lookin' to do things different this time, and I'm wit' that. Trust me," Ken prefaced.

There was a "but" coming.

"But, beggars can't be choosers. You wanted some exposure. You said you wanted to get put on—"

"I didn't say I wanted to get put on. I said I realized that I can't do this shit alone like I thought."

Ken sighed, anticipating a monologue that'd been recited time and time again.

"I need community. I need other artists, and together, we can lift each other up," Sage began.