It Goes Down at Air MartR. A. Franklin | Avius Publishing
House
Prologue: The Corner Where It All Comes Together
Cog City wasn’t famous like its neighbor, Galaxy City—but it had a pulse all
its own. Students buzzed from college to coffee shops. Buses wheezed past
neon-lit diners. From the downtown skyline to the Bronze Buffalo Airport
tarmac, this place moved like it had somewhere to be—and fast.
In the middle of it all sat a busy intersection most people knew without
knowing they knew it. North led to downtown businesses and high-rises. South to
the airport. East to theme parks and beach-inspired chaos. West? Shopping
districts, restaurants, and two rival colleges. But right on that corner, where
the city’s lifeblood pulsed strongest, stood something new:
Air Mart.
A towering three-story building with glass that caught the sunrise just
right. Avius 5000, a
family-owned company rooted in local ambition, had seen this intersection not
just as an address—but an opportunity. A bold experiment in retail, food,
fashion, and community… all under one roof. Some believe it’s a mini-mall.
Others? Just their future favorite spot.
But for the employees inside, it wasn’t just a building. It was a
reset button, a second chance,
a shot at something different. From aspiring
football players to foodies, from college hopefuls to full-time day dreamers—Air
Mart brought together an unpredictable, brilliant, clashing crew.
And on one crisp Monday morning, with orientation kicking off for Air Mart’s
new crew, it all began.
Theme music!
The harsh buzz of the alarm clock cut
through the silence like a drill sergeant barking orders. 6:00
AM. Jay Walker groaned, blindly smacking his hand against the
snooze button—missed. Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
"Man, I swear this thing has beef with me," he muttered, finally
silencing the clock.
Still half-asleep, he reached for his phone, unlocking it with muscle memory
before cueing up a track from Blu39. The
bass thumped through his small apartment, instantly shifting the energy.
"Check the stats, gotta stack—pure flames on wax…neva eva remix, or
lie about the facts"
Jay nodded along, lips moving as he repeated the lyrics under his breath.
This was the zone, the mindset he
needed before stepping away from his place of peace.
Swinging his legs off the bed, he stretched until his joints popped, then rolled into the bathroom. The shower was his reset button—steam rising, water hitting skin like a wake-up slap, and Blu39’s verses weaving between thoughts about his new job.
It wasn't glamorous, but it was a stepping stone. One day, the paycheck from Air Mart would turn into a contract offer for arena football. One day, he'd be on the field instead of stocking energy drinks. One day. Soon.
For now? He had three hours to get ready, a bus to catch, and Trent Jacobs to deal with—dude met Jay and immediately tried to compete with him, embarrassing himself in ways he couldn’t even script. Jay wasn’t particularly happy that Trent got a job at the same location after that horrible first impression, but a hard shrug put him back in the zone.
With one last verse shouted into the steam-filled air, Jay grabbed a towel, before wrapping up the rest and he was ready to take on the day.
The bus ride through Cog City felt slower than usual, and Jay kept glancing at his phone like it could make time skip forward. A playlist titled “Grind Mode On” vibrated in his earbuds—heavy bass, clean hooks, something to match the heat brewing in his chest. New job. New chances. No fumbles.
He stepped off the bus, duffel over his shoulder, sneakers tapping the curb like clockwork. Air Mart stood before him like something out of a sci-fi movie—three stories of semi-circled newness, a vibrant interior he could see through the huge storefront windows, and promise. The Air Mart logo gleamed under the morning sun like a badge of honor.
Jay muttered under his breath, “Okay, let’s see what this spaceship got for me.”
Inside the Base Station, Craig Green was posted up near a folding table stacked with employee handbooks, a few folders full of the manager’s agendas, and branded water bottles that looked like they’d come out of a motivational seminar.
“Walker?” Craig asked, glancing down the list with his signature resting smirk.
“Yes, sir,” Jay said, standing a bit straighter.
“Sir? I like it.” Craig chuckled. “You sound like you about to enlist. This ain’t boot camp—yet.”
A few chuckles rippled around the sales floor as the other new hires gathered in matching polos. Jay recognized a few faces from the final interviews: Trent, with his hair combed too tight and attitude just as sharp. Maria, effortlessly cool with a notebook in hand. Kim, already glancing his way with a half-smile.
Craig clapped his hands once. “All right, Air Mart Cadets—orientations in 10, so if your uniform ain’t tucked, your breath ain’t fresh, or your brain ain’t turned on yet…” He let the silence sit a beat. “Now’s the time to get it together.”
Jay grinned. The tone was set. Respect, rhythm, and just the right amount of ridiculousness.
He slipped into one of the folding chairs, glancing around as more hires shuffled in. Some looked nervous. Others tapped their feet like they were waiting for a beat to drop from Air Mart’s casual lo-fi music mix. From across the aisle, Maria Sanchez caught his eye with a casual nod.
As the managers handed out handbooks and starter kits, she leaned over just enough to speak low. “Hey, by the way… thanks for earlier. At the door.”
Jay blinked. “Oh—that? It was nothing.”
“Nah,” she said with a small smile. “These days, people don’t really do ‘after you’ anymore. So… it’s something.”
Jay shrugged, trying to play it cool, but his grin betrayed him. “Well, I figured if I started the day being rude, karma might assign me to clean the toilets.”
She chuckled. “Noted. You’re already off to a strong start.”
Before he could say more, Ja’Ron’s voice cut across the room.
“Ummm... is this ceiling glowing, or am I just under-rested and overexcited?”
Heads turned as Ja’Ron spun slowly in place like someone browsing a boutique spaceship.
“You see this place?” he said, eyebrows raised. “They’ve got LED lights under the trim. Touchscreens in the wall. This ain’t no regular store—our stores outta Star Trek!”
Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw her.
Vickie Vanguardi.
Craig passed the mic to Vickie just as the staff settled into their seats with their onboarding packets and glossy floor maps.
“Now that you’ve got your materials,” she said, “it’s time for you to meet your floor leaders.”
She gestured with both hands like a maestro commanding a band. “If you’re assigned to Air Cuisine,” she said with a wink toward Margarita, “your taste buds are in for a treat—and your stamina might be tested.”
Margarita gave a knowing smile and raised her clipboard like a badge of honor.
“To those selected for Air Shop…” Vickie nodded toward Vance, Shica, and Calvin. “Style and tech live up there—and so do the weird ones. And I say that with love,” she laughed. Calvin tried to nod with composure but nearly dropped his tablet.
“For the rest of you who plan to sweat a little more and run the ground floor…” she paused for effect, “Base Station—we hustle different. You’ll be with Craig.”
Craig nodded once. Cool. Quiet. Controlled.
The room buzzed with low conversation as employees began to group up near their respective leaders.
Jay, Maria, and Trent gravitated toward Craig with a few others in tow, while Keith high-fived someone on the way toward the escalators.
Vickie clapped twice. “Alright! Everyone will spend the rest of the morning training with your direct managers. There’ll be demos, safety protocols, and a lot of sitting and standing. But the real prize?”
She raised one hand.
“Free Lunch.”
Mild cheers broke out, especially from Ja’Ron, who hollered, “Does it come with dessert?!”
Vickie smirked. “Thanks to Train A Chef, it will. And yes—you’ll get a chance to tour the other floors after training so you know how this place breathes from top to bottom.”
She motioned toward the stairwell and escalators. “Let’s move. Your official shift doesn’t start today... but your story does.”
Maria looked to Jay, and he gave her a subtle nod like, Let’s get it.
And just like that, Air Mart’s team was born.
Floor 2 – Air Cuisine
The group stepping off the escalator landed in what looked like a boutique restaurant from a cooking show. Stainless steel gleamed under warm hanging lights, and the open space buzzed with culinary potential.
Margarita Valentin clapped once, her curly ponytail bouncing slightly. “Welcome to Air Cuisine—where flavor meets flair.”
T.T. Franklin stood near the back, clutching her packet, eyes wide like she’d just walked into a cooking competition. Beside her, Sarah and Mary Lou exchanged soft hellos, while Victor “Vick” Lopez Jr. leaned coolly against the prep table, earbuds in one ear, head bobbing to music only he could hear. He lifted one brow at the group like he was sizing up teammates for a co-op mission.
“Here's the deal,” Margarita said, walking them to the kitchen side. “For the next few weeks, we train and prep. That means clean uniforms, tight stations, and clean shoes. We don’t do sliding around here, unless it’s into a booth to deliver a hot plate.”
Slight laughter broke out.
Then, in walked Willy James, apron on, smile wide, already holding a serving tray like a prop in a sitcom.
“Did somebody order a culinary masterpiece and 38 years of kitchen wisdom?”
“Hi Willy,” Margarita said with a smirk.
He winked. “Let’s give these young folks a reason to eat lunch here even when they clock out.”
In the corner, Ja’Ron, on cafeteria recon, peeked in a pot and whispered to no one in particular, “Smells like opportunity and cholesterol.”
Floor 3 – Air Shop
Upstairs, the vibe couldn’t have been more different. Lo-fi music played softly in the background, and the fluorescent lighting reflected off racks of gadgets, streetwear, Air Mart merch, and accessories. The walls had murals of art, comic-style panels, and digital signage that blinked with quotes like “Bold Enough to Be You.”
Vance Nadio stood front and center, arms behind his back like he was about to deliver an existential lecture on fashion. But it was Calvin Long who stepped forward.
“Alright team,” he said with an enthusiastic but careful tone, “this floor’s your canvas. You represent creativity, culture, and clean customer service. And yes… I mean physically clean. This is still a store.”
Keith Green, looking slightly drained from his electrician coursework the night before, cracked a smirk at that. Next to him, Manda Gathers adjusted her studded bracelet and looked around like she’d planned how the rest of her shift would go.
“You’ll get time on register rotation, display management, and floor flow,” Calvin continued. “And if you see me on a ladder fixing something—just keep people out the way for me.”
In the back, Lenard, Sedrick, and Chris Rossi tried to contain their laughter after someone whispered something about matching staff hoodies would look like bootleg superhero uniforms.
“Y’all,” Shica said gently, “if we can all just…” She trailed off, not quite finishing the sentence, but still somehow effective in getting them quiet.
Meanwhile, back at the Base Station, Craig glanced at the time on his watch and nodded to Jay, Maria, and the rest.
“Lunch is about to hit. Let’s see what these chefs have in store for us today.”
And just like that, Air Mart’s first official training lunch was about to kick off—tables set, trays lined, and a whole building filled with fired-up ambition awaiting some flavor.
While in the Air Cuisine’s dining area, the staff were able to mingle. And all three teams—Base Station, Cuisine, and Shop—had just taken their first steps into what none of them knew would be anything but a typical job.
Because… It Goes Down at Air Mart.
Chapter 2: Lunch Breaks and Left Turns
The second-floor dining area buzzed with anticipation as the Base Station
and Air Shop teams trickled into booths and lounge sections near the windows.
The Air Cuisine staff prepped for lunch duties while some leaned on the
railings, taking in the glow and the view of the world outside—trying to play
it cool as their stomachs started to rumble.
“I’m hungry hungry,” said Jay.
“Same here,” replied Sedrick, walking by with Leonard and Chris, deep in
debate about the top three fighting games
of all time.
“Hungry hungry?” Trent asked with a sarcastic look, eyeing Jay.
Jay simply glanced at him, then turned back toward the windows to enjoy the
view.
Craig stood near the ascending escalator, arms crossed like a calm general
at ease. Beside him, Vickie Vanguardi casually flipped through a
checklist on her tablet, pineapple sparkling
water in hand.
“Team looks good,” Craig said. “Settling in faster than expected.”
Vickie nodded. “So far. I’m giving it an eight overall. I don’t want to get
too excited.”
Suddenly, Craig’s walkie buzzed. Margarita’s voice came through, clear and
cool:
“Hi, Craig? This is Margarita,” she said with urgency.
“How’s it going?” Craig asked, waiting for the scoop.
“There’s some bootleg Dolemite-looking guy out here trying to get food from
the Train A Chef crew,” said Margarita.
Moonlight’s voice cut through the walkie: “Ummm excuse me, sweet thang, but
me and my cousin taught Dolemite everything he knows. I’m a classic,” he said,
breaking into a spin move.
Craig closed his eyes with a sigh. “Moonlight.” He turned to Vickie. “I’ll
be back.”
“Wait for me,” Vickie replied, hungry for a little excitement herself.
Outside – Air Mart Entrance
Moonlight leaned against the sliding glass door like a man
auditioning for a Soul Train reboot. Velvet vest, flared pants, and a tote bag
full of mixtapes slung over his shoulder. The Train A Chef delivery team tried
to wheel a sleek metal cart of uncooked food around him.
“What type of food y’all wheeling in here?” Moonlight crooned, stepping in
front of them. “Can I speak truth into existence and manifest myself a to-go
plate?”
A sous-chef raised an eyebrow. “We haven’t even fired the ovens yet.
It’s uncooked. Get off the drugs and go find a job so you can get a life and
stop begging.”
The other chefs froze. Margarita and Ja’Ron turned toward the
sous-chef, eyebrows raised.
“You wrong for that,” said Ja’Ron.
“Very,” Margarita agreed.
Moonlight cut through the tension.
“So you got all that to say about me looking the way you look? What are you,
six-four, six-five? Got a job, but I can still get a girlfriend quicker than
you—with that water cooler head. I bet they had to custom-make your hat using a
paint bucket.”
“I’m dead. You is too much,” laughed Ja’Ron, nearly doubling over.
The sous-chef tried to recover. “Take a hike, bum.”
But Moonlight wasn’t done.
“You’re a waste of height, young buck. Your head so big… when people think
you’re running, you really just chasing your head to get back on balance. Just
get in there and cook my food, Chef Boy R Big Head.”
Margarita tucked her lips to keep from laughing. The other chefs looked at
the sous-chef, waiting to see how he’d respond. He glanced at Ja’Ron, who was
now wheezing with laughter.
“You got a fan. Oh my God, you too much,” Ja’Ron said between breaths.
Craig stepped forward, Vickie just behind him.
“What’s going on, Moonlight?” Craig asked. “I need them inside so our staff
can eat and stay on schedule.”
“What’s going on, brotha? I just had to get your chef straight—and make sure
I can get dibs on a plate,” Moonlight said, smirking but serious.
“Brotha, let’s step off to the side real quick,” Craig said, motioning the
chefs inside.
Margarita guided the Train A Chef team to the service elevator, tugging
Ja’Ron by the hand to pull him away from the show.
“I just wanted a plate, brotha. You know how it goes. It’s not the easiest
out here, baby,” Moonlight said.
“Two things,” Vickie said, stepping beside Craig.
Moonlight saw her, took a slight step back, and turned on the charm.
“Well hello there, Miss Lady. I see you looking good today. Hair looking
like you just stepped out a magazine,” he said with a grin.
Vickie tried to be stern, but Moonlight’s charm softened her tone.
“I appreciate that. But two things: One, we have to make sure our staff have
food so they can focus during training. Two, we don’t know if there’ll be any
food left—so we can’t guarantee you a plate.”
Craig glanced at Vickie. He didn’t say anything, but he knew her words had
played into Moonlight’s favor.
“So what you’re saying is… if there’s something left, then I can get a
plate, right?” Moonlight asked.
Realizing she’d talked herself into it, Vickie nodded. “If there’s anything
left at 2 p.m., you’ll get a plate.”
Moonlight lit up. “That’s all I needed. Miss…?”
“Vickie. Vickie Vanguardi. And this is my fellow manager, Craig.”
“Yeah, I saw Brotha Craig before. I just never knew ya name, brotha. That’s
all I needed, Miss Vickie. I’ll see you… at two,” Moonlight said, tipping his
hat.
“Oh, before I go.” He reached into his tote and held out a cassette. “My
latest drop: Sunset Soul & Breakfast Ballads, Vol. 7. You’ll
appreciate the track called ‘Scramble My Heart (Over Easy).’”
Vickie glanced at it. “Sorry, but I don’t have a cassette player.”
He tucked the tape away with a smile. “Someday, y’all’ll want my music. I’m
telling you.”
With a smooth pivot, he walked off singing something called, Groove Under
Da Moon.
Vickie looked at Craig and tilted her head, like “What just happened?” as
some of the Train A Chef staff came down to get the remaining food.
“And that was Moonlight—the one I told you about who used to show up at
Peter’s Petroleum during closing hours,” said Craig.
“He’s certainly a character, to say the least,” Vickie replied, laughing as
they walked back inside.
Inside – Air Cuisine Kitchen & Dining Area
Back upstairs, the Train A Chef pros were well underway, instructing the
staff on their designated kitchen stations. Margarita walked the floor,
monitoring each setup to ensure her Air Cuisine crew was absorbing everything
for long-term success.
Vick stood near a chef as he learned how to make sweet chili spring
roll wraps, almost like he was ready to absorb culinary greatness through
osmosis. Sarah, Mary Lou, and T.T. watched the setup with serious focus.
The dining area was live. Booths packed. Ja’Ron leaned over the
ordering counter, scanning the menu before go time.
“I’m glad we don’t have to cook,” Ja’Ron said to Maria.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Maria replied with a smile.
Margarita caught Maria’s eye and approached. “Time to start taking
orders.”
She laid out the steps for service, from drinks
and appetizers to entrées, desserts, and final table resets.
“I know it seems like a lot,” Margarita added, “but by the end of the month,
this’ll be second nature.”
“As long as I’m not sweating on a grill, I can do this,” said Ja’Ron.
“When we’re short-staffed that’s the only time you’ll step in—since you two
are the hosts,” Margarita replied.
The first wave of staff received their meals: sweet chili spring roll wraps, fried crab bites, garlic butter
salmon with broccoli and red beans and rice, Cloud Burgers with Thunder Fries, Southern fried boneless chicken thighs with mac and cheese and collard greens, or center-cut pork chops with Alfredo pasta and salad. Dessert options included Grandma’s
Nutty Chocolate Chunk Cookies, Super Duo
Milkshakes, and Apple Pie Delight.
Once the Sales Floor and Air Shop teams were served, Train A Chef swapped
spots with the Air Cuisine crew, inviting them to take a seat and enjoy the
same hospitality.
That’s when Ja’Ron leaned toward Maria, lowering his voice.
“Girl… Margarita,” he whispered, finally catching her attention. “Look, I
don’t wanna be funny, and I know he got clowned outside, but I don’t want that
one chef messing with my food.”
“He doesn’t know who’s who,” Margarita said—though when she glanced toward
the kitchen door, she caught the sous‑chef innocently peeking out while sipping
water. That gave her pause.
“Girl… he knows where I’m sitting,” Ja’Ron murmured.
Margarita thought for a moment, then went over to reassign the sous‑chef to
work a section of the dining area since all the food was already cooked.
“Better safe than sorry,” she thought, giving Ja’Ron a subtle nod. He
mouthed, Thank you, girl.
Team Mixer
After dessert rolled out for the Air Cuisine team, the music softened and
the lights dimmed just a touch. Vickie stood at the front near a mounted
digital display excited for some game time.
“Alright team—time to loosen up. Let’s play: Guess That Teammate.”
Margarita, Craig, and Shica stood beside her—each representing their
floor. The screen spun through fun facts submitted earlier in the day. Three
names were displayed with each question to choose from. The team captains
presented the answers for their team.
“Whose family once fostered an iguana named Lizzell Washington.”
As the mixer wrapped up, Craig gave the crew a heads‑up about Day Two:
“Tomorrow we’re covering safety procedures, drills, and emergency exits for
each floor. You’ll also get light homework—make sure you do it. It’s how we
know you’re understanding your job.”
The teams began to filter out, chatting about the day and comparing notes.
After Work
On the bus ride home, Jay had his training packet open on his lap, knocking
out the homework while his earbuds pumped a mellow beat. He was already
thinking ahead—home, a quick shower, then football practice. Every step, every
shift, was part of the bigger picture he saw for himself and he refused to let
anyone or anything get in the way of that.
2:00 p.m. – Air Mart Entrance
As the Train A Chef crew loaded the day’s supplies into their vehicle, they
spotted Moonlight strolling back toward the doors. The sous‑chef who’d dared to
step up and diss the ’70s charmer stayed silent this time, watching as
Moonlight leaned in through the doorway where Vickie and Craig stood—grinning
like he’d just been handed a VIP lunch invitation.
“So… about that plate.”
Chapter 3: After Hours and Inner Drives
Cog City pulsed with a different kind of energy after 3 p.m.—less
structured, more personal. The city’s heartbeat shifted from clocked-in hustle
to off-the-clock ambition, tension, and reflection.
Jay Walker’s Afternoon Grind
Jay stepped off the bus, training packet tucked under his arm, earbuds
humming with mellow bass.
“Let me knock this stuff out so I can head to football practice,” he said to
himself, immediately remembering he needed a quick snack before hitting the
shower.
Inside his apartment, a note on the fridge greeted him in familiar
handwriting:
“If you need a small bite before training, I put a bento box in the fridge
with some rice and chicken. Eat that with your protein shake. I’ll cook when I
get home. — Love, Mom”
Jay smiled. His mom’s notes always hit different. He genuinely appreciated
her help—and looked forward to the day he could buy his parents a home, help
her launch her own nursing business, and support his dad in starting a trucking
company. They’d finally get to enjoy life as owners, building something that
could create jobs and legacy.
After warming up the meal, Jay flipped on the Bronze Buffalo Sports Network
and got pulled into the latest episode of The Erickster—hosted by Eddie
Erickston and his fiery co-host, Jody Jackson.
“Ladies and gentlemen… in an unexpected turn of events, the undisputed
champ, LeRoy Lightning, was arrested on what he says were made-up charges to
make him miss his fight…”
Jay leaned forward, eyes locked on the screen as Jody jumped in to defend
Lightning.
“You know that’s a buncha BS, bro. This man never ever eva eva eva missed a
fight in his life, and now a Badge Patrol Officer pulls him over on the way to
his first fight at his new arena? You already know what it is… and the BPO bumped
into him, so how’s that an assault charge?”
The segment ran long, but Jay stayed glued until the first commercial. The situation stirred something in him—questions about what it meant to be a professional Black athlete, and what challenges might lie ahead. He shook his head, finished his meal, and hopped in the shower. Practice was calling.
Vickie Vanguardi’s Balancing Act
Eleven minutes away, Vickie sat in her car near the daycare, texting her ex.
“Hi Steve, just to double check—are you still picking up the kids from
daycare?”
Five minutes later, Steve replied:
“Why are you asking me that today?”
Vickie stared at the screen, her jaw tightening.
“Are you serious? Today you were supposed to get them and drop them back off
at daycare on Thursday. You told the kids the gameplan and got them
excited—they haven’t seen you in a month.”
Steve responded:
“That was beyond my control. I’m wrapped up with work right now and won’t be
able to get out until later. Can I just pick them up from your place later?
Just give me your address.”
Vickie replied:
“To keep the peace for all of us, I’d rather just try this again tomorrow.
Just know that I’m also busy.”
Steve replied:
“Sounds good, thanks.”
Vickie tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and exhaled. “Dammit,
Steve.” She sat for several minutes, letting music fill the silence until she
felt like herself again. Then she headed inside to pick up Penny and Chase—her
reason for everything.
Doug Weber’s Quiet Rebellion
Two miles down the road, Doug Weber
pulled into the parking lot at Green Gasoline. He’d already put in his two
weeks notice, but muscle memory had him arriving early—until he caught himself.
“Naw, hell naw. Let me chill until
it’s time for me to go in,” he muttered, leaning back in his seat.
Nineteen minutes passed before Mike,
the manager, spotted his car and came striding over.
“Yo!” Mike waved. “What are you
doing in the car when you know I need you?”
Doug glanced at his watch. “What do
you mean?”
“I need you in the store. I pulled
the boxes out so you could jump into stocking,” Mike said.
“I don’t come in for another 30
minutes. I pulled up early to make a few calls,” Doug replied.
“Are you serious?” Mike asked.
“Yep.” Doug tapped his phone.
Mike frowned. “Why not just stay
home if you’re not going to come in early like you used to?”
Doug didn’t flinch. “Instead of
driving all the way home, I came here to park after leaving my first day of
training at my new job. Maybe Troy can come in early if he lives close enough.”
That last line hit hard. Doug had
unknowingly trained Troy—Mike’s nephew—for a supervisor role he’d applied for
twice. A role he was qualified for. A role he was passed over for. That
betrayal had deflated his sail. He wasn’t a company man anymore. He was just
finishing out the clock.
“I’ll be in,” Doug said, dismissing
Mike with a phone call.
As Mike walked away, Doug muttered,
“Yeah, that’s how it’s going to be for the rest of these two weeks. I’m not
helping you make things easier after using me.”
The line clicked.
“What’s up, D?” said Shawn.
“Sitting outside of work,” Doug
replied. “Check this out though…”
Doug recounted the whole scene, and
Shawn laughed. “That’s why people keep leaving. Remember Megan almost swung on
him before she walked out and he called the BPOs?”
Both men cracked up.
Cog City in Motion
As you know, the city moved like it
had somewhere to be.
• T.T.
Franklin rushed home to binge the new season of her favorite show with her
mom.
• Tisa
Chang sat in the library, rehearsing how to tell her mother she’d dropped
out of college and didn’t want the corporate life.
• Ja’Ron
Jones stood in line at a local Black-owned beauty supply store, prepping
for a client’s hair appointment and dreaming of opening the first Black
American male-owned salon in Cog City. His dad agreed to cover half the startup
costs—if Ja’Ron could prove he had the clientele and at least two stylists
ready to rent booths.
• Trent
Jacobs left the gym and headed to the pharmacy to pick up his grandmother’s
medication.
• Maria
Sanchez napped with earplugs in, preparing for a sleepless night of neighbors
arguing.
Meanwhile, Trisha Whitfield
was mid-argument with her boyfriend Corey—Jay’s cousin—over a hypothetical
question about whether he’d open a door for another woman.
“You should only open the door for
me,” Trisha insisted.
“That’s what decent people do,”
Corey replied. “They hold doors. They’ll know I’m a good man. Your good man.”
Trisha liked that answer—but didn’t
let it show. She pivoted to dinner plans, then started complaining again.
“Do you sit around complaining like
this at your new job?” Corey asked.
“You think you’re funny. I just
started today,” Trisha replied.
“They have no idea what they’re
about to go through,” Corey muttered.
“I don’t act like this at work,”
Trisha said.
“So you only act like this with me?”
Corey asked, half-smiling.
“No, act like how?” Trisha shot
back.
“Don’t play dumb,” Corey said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking
about, Bae,” Trisha replied, trying to steer the conversation back to food.
“We’ll see how long you last at Air
Mart,” Corey said, as their lover’s spat rolled on.
Moonrise
Night had fully settled over Cog
City, casting a coolness across storefronts and sidewalks. The city didn’t slow
to a halt—it shifted. From ambition to reflection. From tension to tenderness.
From chaos to calm.
And just as the evening seemed to
quiet…
Moonlight strolled back by Air Mart, standing on the sidewalk, eyes lit with excitement about
what was to come.
“This will be my biggest stage yet,
baby,” he said, gazing at the glowing lights of the vibrant building.
Equipped with a sandwich in one hand and two cold beers in a bag, Moonlight
made his way to his tent tucked between a half wall and the bushes near the
entrance of the plaza next to Air Mart. He glanced at the back of the building,
where the big red LED sign above the store read “Closed”—ready for action in a
month’s time. Then, with a zip of his tent, the view disappeared.
Inside, he cleaned his hands with a washcloth soaked in rubbing alcohol,
prepping for his meal.
“Ooooweee, I forgot how strong this stuff can be,” he said, briefly
unzipping the tent to let in a breath of fresh air as he begins to make a song
out of his words.
He slid in a cassette tape from the late, great James Brown, leaned back in
his tent to enjoy his meal, and let the music carry him into
dreamland.
Special Note:
I hope this story brings you laughter and inspiration in equal measure—and that it opens your eyes to new perspectives and everyday nuances that spark positive change in your life. See you next week! - R. A. Franklin
