Page 1 of Standing In The Sun

one

End of May

The headphones were too tight,but the weed had him floating. Lunar sat back in the chair, hood over his head, gold tooth flashing every time he cracked a smirk and those dimples sinking deeper into his face.

The studio lights were low and the walls were covered in neon graffiti and old vinyl covers. It was aesthetically pleasing and he understood why other artists took pictures posted up against the wall.

Across from him, the hosts were setting up for a show they clearly thought would be light work. Trell and Yoni moved around with ease like everything was second nature. They barely talked to him and that was okay with Lunar. Interviews weren’t really his thing but Dejanay told him it helped keep the buzz going in between drops.

“Alright, alright, we live in 3… 2…” The red light blinked on.

“You’re locked in with CaliWave Radio, it’s your boy Trell on the mic…”

“And I’m Yani, aka your favorite hood intellectual,” she laughed into the mic, “And today, we got Nar in the building!”

“Nar himself,” Trell added, leaning forward. “What’s good with you, man?”

Lunar scratched his jaw, voice smooth. “Cooling, appreciate y’all having me.”

Yani leaned in, twisting her lip. “So, let’s get into it. You been everywhere lately. Collabs, Rolling Loud, and a couple gossip headlines. But it’s your lyrics people keep debating. Love, grief, gang politics, Black Lives Matter, street struggle…real weighty stuff, but let’s talk context.”

Lunar lifted an eyebrow. “Go ‘head.”

She nodded. “Your stepdad is a retired NBA vet. Your Mama’s one of the top brokers in Atlanta. Let’s not talk about your aunts and uncles… You were flying private before you hit puberty. Which has folks asking…how you rapping like you ducking bullets when you was really dodging tennis lessons?”

Trell laughed…a little too loud.

Lunar’s jaw ticked. “Y’all rehearsed that?”

“Nah, just keeping it real,” Trell said. “People feel like you cosplaying a struggle you ain’t never lived.”

Lunar leaned forward, eyes low, voice colder now. “And who the fuck is people?”

“Fans, Listeners, Social?—”

“Nah. Whoexactly? You? ‘Cause I ain’t never seen none of them tweets come from nobody who actually know me.”

Yani raised both brows. “So, it’s not true?”

“What’s not true? That I had a bed to sleep in while half my friends was posted in the Jig all summer? That my Mama made millions but still made me walk through our old block so I never forgot who fed her when she was broke? That my daddy—myrealdaddy—got shot in that same neighborhood before I ever got to meet him?”

The room went still. Even the intern by the door stopped typing.

“I talk about grief ‘cause I grew up watching my uncles keep his name alive like a second religion,” Lunar continued, tone clipped. “I talk about love ‘cause my mom ain’t raise no robot. I talk about bloods ‘cause half my LA fam is affiliated and I spent summers out there learning the game between flights. That mic ain’t for make believe.”

Trell shifted, trying to recover. “We not saying you can’t speak your truth. We just?—”

“You just trying to get a clip out of me,” Lunar cut in. “But y’all got me twisted. Just ‘cause my family made it out don’t mean I ain’t come from what made them.”

Yani tilted her head, watching him, her red skin flushing crimson. “You always this mad about people asking questions?”

He leaned back. “Only when they asking like I’m guilty of being alive. That’s why with my next album you gon’ see who I really am…what goes on inside my head and why I rap about the shit I rap about.”

Trell snorted under his breath. “Aight, man. But the math don’t always add up. It’s hard for some folks to see that luxury and the loyalty co-exist. You might know about the streets but you ain’t from it so I think you’re doing us a disservice by pretending.”

And that was the moment where Lunar lost himself.

That click in Lunar’s chest-- the one that moved before he could catch it sounded off.

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