Memoirs of The Flower Dome – a short story

It was a monotonous thing, applying for jobs. Everyday he’d check online to see if there were any new opportunities; everyday he’d spend hours, okay minutes, scrolling through pages of job postings; everyday he’d hear nothing from potential employers. It felt like a terrible waste of time, applying for jobs, especially knowing that he wasn’t going to be making real money. What was the point of doing a simple minded factory job for minimum wage? Personal time was much more valuable than that, according to his logic anyways. But didn’t that make sense? 

Lamar often had these interior monologues where he would convince himself that he was happy and not wasting time and doing the right thing and that his opportunity just didn’t happen yet. He was currently playing video games, not applying for jobs; he was thinking about it, though. At least, right? And it was the morning, he practically just woke up. His father didn’t buy it, he only saw what he wanted to see, which was his unemployed, adult son, sitting at home playing video games. Lamar knew that but there wasn’t anything he could do about it, he was only himself, he couldn’t allow himself to get caught up in other peoples perception of him, not even his fathers.

Speaking of; Lamar’s father was approaching his room, he could sense it and hoped he’d just walk by. Then his door opened.

“Morning, Lamar. What are you doing today?”

“I’m ju-”

“Nothing as usual. Why don’t you ever do anything productive?”

Lamar paused his game, already beginning to tense up, and ripped his headphones off his head. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Asked his father. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

“I was just waiting to see if you were done,” said Lamar. “So you don’t interrupt me.”

A look of bewilderment flashed across his fathers face before turning into a frown. “Listen, son. I’m only trying to help you. It can’t be easy just sitting at home, you’ll go mad.”

“You think I want to sit at home all day? I don’t have a job and you need money to go out.”

“Get a job then. You’re 27 years old.”

“Am I? Wow, I had no idea.” Lamar knew he shouldn’t be talking to his father like that but he wanted this conversation, or whatever it was, to end so he could get back to the game. “I apply for jobs everyday. Either no one calls me back, or there’s nothing that I see myself doing.”

“All I’m saying is that of course it’s easier to sit at home playing video games than getting a job but it doesn’t change the fact that you need to get a job.”

“I will. I know something will come along. Trust me, dad, I look everyday.” Lamar changed his tone from annoyed to reassuring. “Don’t worry, I’m a positive person.”

“Alright, Lamar. Well have a good day, I’m leaving for work now, and I’ll probably be back around 8.”

“When you get back, can I use your car to go to the gym?”

“Yes, I suppose you can. At least you go to the gym.” His father smirked, shook his head, and closed the door. 

Thank god that was over. Lamar and his father had the same conversation around 7 days a week. It was only them two, his mother ran away when he was very young and his three siblings had already moved out. He was the second youngest sibling but they were only a combined 7 years apart. Lamar put his headphones back on, and continued doing what he was doing. Five minutes later he heard his father get in his car and drive out. Home alone at last, Lamar let out a short sigh. He paused the game again, but this time he reached underneath his bed and pulled out a large beige shoe box. It was Larger than most shoe boxes because Lamar was a size 13. There weren’t shoes inside the box, though; he took the cover off and smiled greatly looking at his stash of cash. It was good that Lamar was size 13, having huge shoe boxes; they could hold more money.

Hours later, when the sun went down and the full moon rose, Lamar heard his father pull into the driveway. He arrived home just after 8, like he said, and Lamar immediately got ready; he didn’t want to appear like he was rushing his father so he waited for a bit before running down stairs, gym bag in hand. 

“How was work, dad?” Lamar called out on his way down the winding stair case. His father was in the kitchen, making a sandwich before he’d take his leave to his living room recliner to watch his new favourite T.V show, Living The Life. Lamar loved the show, too, he’s the one who told his father about it, but he couldn’t watch it right now.

“It was great, thanks for asking,” said Lamar’s father, who was a doctor at a hospital downtown. Being a doctor meant that Lamar’s father was rather wealthy, not rich; they lived in a well decorated, large house in the suburbs and his father drove a new Mercedes, which was leased. After his wife left, he was still able to take care of all four of his kids and provide for them in excess when he felt like they deserved it. Lamar’s two older sisters, and his younger brother all did well at school, because they worked hard, and when they finished they found careers; because of this, Lamar’s father helped them buy a car and a nice suite in a condo downtown. He could’ve done so for Lamar, too, as a matter of fact he wanted to, only he didn’t feel like Lamar deserved it. Lamar didn’t mind that much because he knew what decisions he was making and he knew what he wanted to do. He was determined to make it in the music industry, a profession that his father didn’t care to take seriously. 

“Anything out of the ordinary happen?” Asked Lamar. 

His dad chuckled. “So, I was writing a prescription in my office and a couple of nurses barged in saying that a patient was out of bed galloping around his room yelling at the top of his lungs that he wasn’t going to eat because the nurses poisoned his food. I started laughing and I asked them if they did poison his food and they said yes!” His father stopped the story to laugh out loud. “You had to be there, Lamar, but it was funny. Anyways, they didn’t actually poison his food, and I had to go talk to him to calm him down. I brought him something fresh from the cafe and we ate together.”

Lamar laughed at his fathers story. By this time his father was on his recliner with his sandwich about to press play on the episode. “So are you going to the gym or what?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna get going now. I might go see my friends after so I don’t know when I’ll be home.”

“Alright, have a good workout.”

Lamar left his father in the living room and walked to the front door. He put his shoes on, said bye to his father and walked out into the warm, late spring night. 

Lamar loved his fathers Mercedes, and was at least grateful that he was allowed to drive it. He started the engine and drove out quickly to soothing, nighttime hip hop music. 

He didn’t mind staying home because he’d rather invest time into improving himself and his art than waste time being a low level employee at a low level company that didn’t deserve his skills, but his favourite time of day was at night when he could leave the house and do his business. His real business; he didn’t like lying to his father but he couldn’t tell him what he was really doing when he went out so late at night. The entrance to the gym was upcoming, and when it came time to make the turn, Lamar drove right by it; he wasn’t going to the gym. He had no job, but yet he had a shoebox full of cash underneath his bed. How, you ask? You see, Lamar sold marijuana. Right now you’re probably judging him; how could he do such a treacherous and amoral thing like sell marijuana? It was simple: he could, and it wasn’t treacherous at all. He began while he was still in college, selling to kids on campus, and since then he’s made roughly ten thousand dollars. He figured, if he were to work at a mediocre job, which he never seriously considered, there was a chance that by now he’d have saved up more than ten thousand dollars but by selling marijuana he could make his own hours, and have more time for himself. Selling marijuana wasn’t something he could just apply for, and it wasn’t easy, he had to get customers and use word of mouth, he also had to have top notch products, with variety. His father, much like the rest of society, had a misconception about people who sold drugs, but based on what you know about Lamar, does he seem like an unethical person? He just had different goals. 

Anyways, at this moment he was driving into the parking lot of the local mall; this was his spot; a neutral location, in front of the movie theatre, where he’d reverse park his fathers Mercedes, take his phone out and wait for calls or texts, and also try to find people walking to the mall who looked like they were into smoking marijuana. He unzipped his gym bag revealing, not gym attire, but an assortment of zip-lock bags of many different sizes, with his products inside them. The fresh scent filled his fathers Mercedes. Lamar took in a deep breath then rolled down the window to air it out. 

In the next thirty minutes Lamar received several texts from his customers who knew that this was the time to reach him; of course he even had hours of operation, and even though he ‘opened’ late his buyers were glad to wait because they knew they couldn’t get anything as good as what Lamar had. Six of them were on their way now.

He finished sending a reply to another one then tossed his phone on the passenger seat then he spotted two people walking towards the movie theatre, and he noticed they were smoking a joint. He waited until they got closer to his fathers car then he called out to them. 

“Yo, boys,” he casually called out. The boys looked around and pointed at themselves. “Yeah, you guys. Come over here for a minute.” They took a last toke from the joint and tossed it, then made strides towards Lamar, who rolled his window down all the way. “You boys smoke weed?”

They were two tall, fit gentlemen; one was dressed in a hoodie and a red cap and the other had a smooth denim jacket. 

“Did you just see us smoke that?” Asked Red Cap.

“Yeah,” said Lamar. “I did.”

“Then.”

“Alright, alright, I was trying to get you guys over here.” Lamar thought Red Cap was a smart ass. “How was that weed?” He asked Denim Jacket. 

“Nothing great, man. Pretty pathetic, but it works.”

“Damn, eh, nothing’s worse than bad weed. How often do you guys smoke or pick up at a time?”

“As much as possible, so quite often,” said Denim Jacket. Red Cap chuckled. 

Lamar smirked, these guys were just who he was looking for. He reached over to the passenger seat and took a dime bag out of his gym bag. “Listen, guys, here’s a gram of my stuff. Free. It’s called Goldmine.” Lamar saw two pairs of eyes light up with joy. 

“Really!” Exclaimed Red Cap.

“Yeah, it’s top notch stuff, you won’t find anything better.” He handed it to Red Cap. “Take my number down.”

They both wasted no time taking their phones out of their pockets. Lamar gave them his number, and said to enjoy it, then said he looks forward to hearing from them, like it was a job interview. In a way, it was a job interview; he wanted those boys to call him so he could make well earned money. He didn’t usually give away free grams, but he was highly confident in what he had, and those boys smoked a lot, and he liked them. He watched them as they dashed up the stairs to the entrance of the movie theatre. 

Lamar stayed at the mall for another hour, until the texts and calls stopped coming in. Tonight wasn’t the most lucrative but he still made around two hundred dollars. He considered a good night to be five hundred dollars, which he made more often than you think. Notwithstanding, he was happy, plus, he found two new customers.

Lamar wasn’t much of a marijuana user himself. Anymore. As he got older, he slowed down; that was the reason, getting older, but it was Friday night and he was starting to run low anyways, so, even though it was wrong to ‘get high on your own supply’, he rolled a nice baseball bat and enjoyed it immensely. Then he called his supplier to order more. It was like Costco, he bought, in bulk, at a discounted price. Then, of course, he’d resell it, then profit.

His weedman said now was a fantastic time to pick up. Anytime was a fantastic time. It was 11PM, Lamar was wide awake and still really high; he put his fathers car in drive and left the mall, heading to The Flower Dome.

The music was playing loudly in the Mercedes; it served as background music to Lamar’s active thoughts. The one thing that was specifically on his mind was a gold chain he’s had his sights set on for months; he was trying to justify spending almost half his savings to buy it. The money wasn’t his only concern, though, he wasn’t sure if he earned a gold chain because after buying it he’d still be Lamar, just with a gold chain, which he knew wouldn’t matter. He wanted to be someone, and he believed he was getting there, and when he got there, that’s when he’d buy it. But he wanted it now. Then the music cut off, and his ringtone started playing. Annoyed, Lamar looked at the display screen in the Mercedes and saw that it was his sister, his second oldest sister. He lightened up, and answered. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, little brother, what’s up?” His sister was only a year older than him. Her voice was coming through the speakers of the car. 

“Not much, Trish, just driving around. What’s up?” Lamar was speaking in an elevated voice.

“I figured. That’s why I called. Can you drop by with an eighth? Elliott and I feel like getting high this weekend.” Elliott was Trish’s boyfriend, who was a clerk at a law firm in the city, he was trying to become an associate and eventually partner, but that was down the road. Lamar couldn’t stand Elliott, he was the type to smoke weed but be condescending to who he bought his weed from, which was Lamar, because he was a drug dealer and Elliott was a law clerk. Trish heard Lamar roll his eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, little brother. Please, can you drop by with an eighth?”

“Sure. It’ll be fifty bucks.”

“Fifty!? You raised your prices, huh.”

“What can I say. Times are tough. I’m sure Elliott can afford it,” Lamar said dryly. 

“You’re right, he can,” said Trish with sass. “When are you going to be here?”

“Five minutes.”

“Alright, see you in a bit.”

Lamar’s father didn’t know that Trish used weed. As a matter of fact, all his siblings occasionally partook; and he supplied all of them. Lamar also knew that if it was ever found out, he’s the one who would be blamed even though his siblings have been making their own decisions for years. 

Trish’s condo was on the way to The Flower Dome; actually, they were two blocks away from each other. Lamar turned into the pick up, drop off area and saw Trish and Elliott waiting in the lobby. Good thing they didn’t make me wait Lamar thought. He wasn’t sure why they both had to get in the Mercedes but Trish and Elliott jumped in the backseat.

“Thanks, little brother,” Trish said. 

“Yeah, thanks, Lamar,” said Elliott. He gave Lamar a crisp fifty dollar bill. “Say, is this your car?”

“Obviously not.”

“I see. You need to get your own car, man.”

“You don’t even have your own car, man.”

“I don’t need one, seeing as I work downtown. It’s all about the train.”

“I guess you’re not a good enough driver to drive downtown, then.”

“All I’m saying, Lamar, is that you shouldn’t be selling weed out of your dad’s car.”

“But you’re the-”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Trish blurted out before Lamar could finish; she knew he was getting hot. “Get out, Elliott.” 

“See you around, Lamar,” Elliott said, now trying to sound like the nice guy. He opened the door and got out. 

Lamar handed the bag of weed to his sister. “Thanks, Lamar,” she said. “And don’t let him get under your skin. Relax.” 

“Sorry, I know, but he friggin pisses me off.”

Trish could only laugh. “Love you, little brother. See you.” Trish got out of their fathers Mercedes and joined Elliott in the lobby. 

Lamar knew better than to let Elliott get to him but he was just so goddam maddening. But with that now out of the way he took a deep breath and let out a long exasperated sigh. His high was also wearing down, and he was beginning to feel burnt out. Lamar took his eye drops out of his bag and carefully dropped a couple dabs into his dry, red eyes and blinked away the water. Then he put the Mercedes in drive and continued his late night journey to The Flower Dome. 

The Flower Dome was just a bungalow styled house; it wasn’t really a dome. It was inside a typical looking quiet suburb where typical people with typical jobs lived. The Flower Dome had neighbours on either side of it, too, just like any neighbourhood; all the houses had more than a decent amount of space between them, and the front yards were very spacious but not large enough to warrant having a lawnmower they had to drive. 

The owner of The Flower Dome, who you’ll soon meet, bought the place before he had intentions of turning it into what it is now. Years ago when he was a somewhat successful businessman, he found out he had cancer, thankfully he’s cured now but during his treatment, he was introduced to weed as a way to ease his pain; needless to say it did a lot more for him than ease his pain, but he won’t go on the record to go so far as to say it cured his cancer. He was thinking it, though. After he was cancer free, he quit his job and discovered his purpose: marijuana. He figured out how to grow it masterfully, starting with one plant and eventually over a hundred. He used his skills in business to get word out and soon he was rich. 

Lamar was now parking his fathers Mercedes on the opposite side of the road directly across from The Flower Dome. He shut it off, grabbed his gym bag, and got out. He jogged across the street, up the steps, and knocked softly on the door. A short while later, the door opened.

“Look who finally showed up.”

“I know, Christian. I had to stop at my sisters place on the way here.”

“How’s she doing? Still dating that bastard?”

“She’s well. And Yes. She is.” Lamar shrugged. “You look good, though. How’ve you been?” 

Christian was now 65 years old, but you wouldn’t be able to guess that if his hair wasn’t grey; his back was straight, his voice was loud and clear, he looked better than ever. You’d also never guess that he once had cancer, granted he’d been cured for almost twenty years now. Lamar knew all about Christian and Christian knew all about Lamar, they had a kind of mentor, mentee relationship; Lamar confided in Christian what he couldn’t tell his father, which, to be honest, was most things. “Never better, sonny. Come on in, wait till you see what I’ve got for you.”

Lamar stepped inside The Flower Dome, removed his shoes and followed Christian through the sanctuary. The main floor looked like a regular house; living room, kitchen, dining room, bathroom, couches, TV, ect, and there was smoking paraphernalia around in every location mentioned above. Christian led Lamar down the steps, into the basement; Lamar’s favourite place in the world.

He squinted when he reached the bottom steps but his eyes quickly adjusted, then it was like he was taken to a different planet. A planet that had nothing but Marijuana, and smelled like nothing except Marijuana. It was like he was inside a jungle, marijuana plants stood taller than him, and arched in several directions, the automatic timers went off and sprayed the younger plants will a splash of water. Christian smirked when he saw Lamar drop a single tear, and step forward into the Marijuana Jungle. 

“Okay, Lamar, so this is what I’ve got ready for you tonight,” Christian said. He led Lamar to the back with the seven feet high plants. “Take your pick.” Lamar dropped another single tear. “This one is called ‘Red Machine’ see the hairs on it, sativa, very strong. This one is called ‘The Lord’s Morphine’, indica, also very strong. This one is called ‘Dr. Seuss’, hybrid, look how frosty it is, again very strong.”

Lamar wondered how Christian came up with these names for his strains, smoking them might make him insane, in a good way, like going crazy from fame, there wouldn’t be shame, wow, that ‘Dr. Suess’ strain is even messing with my brain. 

He sniffed the ‘Red Machine’ and ‘The Lord’s Morphine’ and was left with less nostril hairs. 

“I’ll take all three, equalling a pound.”

“How’d I know you’d say that? Check it out, I’ve already got them pre packed for you.” Christian was someone special. He had 3 separate Tupperware containers on a desk to the side and handed them to Lamar. Then Lamar took a wad of cash from his gym bag and handed it to Christian; it didn’t need to be counted. 

“Look around some more, I know you love it here. I’m going to head up stairs and get the vaporizer ready, and make some tea, you want some?”

“Yes, please, I’ll be right up.”

Christian took his leave, leaving Lamar alone in the basement. He walked around, just eyeing the flowers and the buds, wishing he could live here with Christian. That was only exaggerated thinking, though, he loved his father and his house. Lamar was mostly thinking of his plans for tomorrow, he had time in the studio booked; it’d be his first time ever in a studio recording something of his own and he was getting nervous. He took his music just as seriously as he did selling Marijuana, and he was just as good at writing songs as he was at selling Marijuana. It was just much harder to make money doing the former, which was a fact that depressed him. He followed the path back to the stairs and met Christian sitting on the couch with his feet up and a large, inflated plastic bag in his hand. He sucked in from it and then passed the bag to Lamar who joined him on the couch. He then took a sip of tea, which, go figure, was infused with THC oils. There were two cups on the table; Lamar took the other after taking his hit from the vaporizer and took a short sip. He wasn’t a huge fan of tea to begin with so he grimaced a bit after like he just took a shot of tequila, then he chugged the rest to get it out of the way. 

“Talk to me, Lamar. What’s on your mind?” 

“Well, tomorrow I have studio time booked.”

“That’s great! Congratulations.”

“Thank you. And it is great. I’m just a bit nervous, you know. It’s my first time ever.”

“Well nerves are a natural thing, I’d think something was wrong with you if you weren’t nervous.”

“You’re right. I guess I’m just scared that I’m not going to be successful doing what I want, now that I’m getting close, and I’ll have to give in to the pressure and listen to my Father.”

“You know what you want to do, Lamar. Don’t make it your mission to become rich doing what you want to do, make it your mission to be the best. You wont be recognized after a month, or a year, or maybe even ten years, but you definitely wont be recognized if you give up. If you work to be the best, you’ll be recognized and probably at a time where you least expect it. That’s how life is.” 

Lamar nodded.

“And don’t live your life for other people; only listen to other peoples suggestions, even your fathers, if it’s what you feel is best for you. Your father will be gone and you’ll be stuck doing what he wanted.” 

Lamar nodded.

“I used to think my purpose was to be a businessman, wear a suit everyday to work. I was hardly happy, just complacent with where I was. Then I was hit with cancer and my life flipped. Now I’m not complacent, I’m happy.”

Lamar nodded as Christian took another hit from the vaporizer. Lamar declined.

“I don’t know if I have a year, let alone ten years,” said Lamar. “Everyday that goes by I just feel pressured.” 

“I can imagine. It’ll be hard to get your father off your back, but I’m sure you know he’s on your back because he wants you to be alright. He doesn’t want you to rely on him all through your adult years.”

Lamar nodded.

“How about this: get a song done tomorrow and bring it home to your father to let him listen.” 

That thought made Lamar even more nervous and Christian could tell. 

“I know, it’ll be tough doing that but perhaps once he hears for himself, he’ll have more faith in you and ease up, you know what I’m saying, Lamar?”

Lamar nodded. “That’s a fine idea. He’s reasonable enough, too, that he would probably ease up. If it’s good.”

“Are you good?”

“I’m the best.”

“That’s my boy.” Christian yawned. “Alright, Lamar, it’s passed your bedtime.”

Lamar smirked and got up from the cushiony couch. He took his Tupperware containers with the ‘Red Machine’, ‘Lord’s Morphine’, and ‘Dr. Suess’ and carried them to the front door. Christian held them while Lamar put his shoes on and handed them back. 

“Thanks again, Christian. I’ll see you in a while, and I’ll tell you how it goes.”

“Good luck, Lamar, I have complete faith in you.” Christian slapped Lamar’s shoulder in a loving manner and they shook hands. Lamar jogged back down the steps, across the street, got inside his fathers Mercedes and drove home. 

Lamar had a feeling of Deja vu the next morning when his father came into his room asking him the same questions as he did the morning before, the only difference was Lamar wasn’t playing video games, and he reacted in a much more diplomatic way; instead of being annoyed with his father, he listened to what he had to say and responded respectfully. His father knew that he wanted to get into the music business but he wasn’t seeing Lamar make any moves in that direction; up until now he was only talking about it, so when Lamar brought up that he was going to the studio today his father was surprised. Pleasantly surprised. 

His father sincerely wished him luck; he wanted Lamar to do something besides stay home, and if it wasn’t a job, at least he was doing something that made him happy, and that’s also what his father wanted for Lamar; he knew staying at home all the time could lead to a feeling of isolation, and it could get depressing. Lamar wasn’t looking melancholy, though, and rarely did. His father told him he’d be home earlier tonight, because it was Saturday, then he left.

In order to make sure he was completely serious about going into music he scheduled his studio time during the day, while his father was at work, so he wouldn’t have the car to use; he’d have to journey by public transit. He wanted to prove to himself that he’d do what it takes, even if it was as simple as taking the bus. His appointment was later in the afternoon, though; Lamar was still in bed. He opened his laptop and checked the website for the jewelry store, which he had bookmarked. He saw the gold chain and stared at it longingly, it wasn’t bezelled, it wasn’t huge, it was just pure gold and he knew it could be his if he wanted but it wasn’t time yet. He closed the tab, closed his laptop, and took out his notebook with his poems, and lyrics inside, and began to ponder new verses, while humming beats that he thought of. 

He wrote and hummed for the next few hours, until it was time to leave. Somewhere in between, his phone vibrated; it was from one of the boys he met last night, Jeans Jacket. Lamar was anticipating a text from one of them and the text said exactly what he was expecting it to say: ‘Hey it’s Jeans Jacket from last night. Your weed is fire, you’ll be hearing from me.’ That made Lamar smile. Anyways, Lamar put on some comfortable, but presentable clothes, packed his bag with his notebook, water bottle, a couple sandwiches for lunch, and, just in case his studio friends wanted, an eighth of the ‘Dr. Suess’.

The trip there wasn’t too terrible. It was forty minute ride, on two busses; Lamar passed the time, once again, by thinking of lines to write. He got to the studio on time, and paid his fees in cash, which made him feel like a baller. He imagined himself walking in with that gold chain. The complex the studio was in was a small building, but had several other businesses there; the space that the studio occupied was the largest, and had three recording rooms. Lamar had to wait some time before his session because he was there too early, but his time came, the receptionist called his name and told him where to go; he anxiously stood up and followed her directions to Studio B.

Lamar walked out of the studio three hours later feeling like he just woke up from a dream; a wonderful dream where he was doing what he loved. It was completely real, though, and because of that, Lamar couldn’t wipe his smile off his face even if he wanted to. He finished his first song. 

Later that night, when his father got home, he asked Lamar how it went.

“Fantastic,” exclaimed Lamar. “The studio is state of the art; it’s really high quality.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” his father said, smiling. “Did you finish a song yet? I’d like to hear it.”

Lamar began to feel butterflies in his stomach; hitherto, he was the only one who heard his music; his father would be the first person to hear it, and give him feedback. He wasn’t sure he was ready. “I did.” But he knew he needed to hear criticism or positive feedback; that’s how he’d improve. “It’s on my phone, I just have to connect it to my speakers.” Lamar took a deep breathe in, and exhaled. “I’m a bit nervous.” He fidgeted with his phone and speaker, then the music started playing.

During, and after it played, Lamar’s father had a puzzled expression on his face.

“Was that you?” His father asked.

“Well, who else would it be?” Lamar’s heart was racing.

“No, I mean, I thought you wanted to be a rapper. What genre was that?”

“It’s Indie.”

“Wow, my son, eh. Surprises me everyday. So you sing?”

“Yep.”

“That song was out of this world, Lamar! Send it to me, I can’t wait to hear what you make next.” 

Once again Lamar couldn’t stop smiling, his first positive review. Of course, he knew that if he ever became famous, there’d be negative reviews, too. He wasn’t focusing on that, though, he wanted to celebrate. His father left his room and said to come down for dinner in a bit. Lamar jumped onto his bed, buried his face into his pillow and screamed into it out of pure joy. Then he rolled over, opened his laptop, and clicked ‘purchase’ on that gold chain. 

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