Knights in Versace

FOUR | HIS NAME IS FLOW

The room had posters plastered everywhere. Luffy’s signature smile, Thor’s piercing gaze and imposing physique. Naturally, the protagonists of two very renowned franchises were but the tip of the iceberg. World-famous or niche, the collection of sagas from both east and west decorated the space with their Logos and still-frames of their cast. Moreover, by the bed was the Liverpool lineup that never ceased to make a man dream, while on the roof were Lionel Messi’s most memorable moments from his time at Barca.

Back in the 90’s, there would undoubtedly be a few p**n magazines laying about. And maybe, on the door, even one of those calendars you’d find at a gas station; those that had a scantily dressed gentlewoman posing for each day of the month. 

But! The third millennium just so happened to be the age of Information. If one truly wanted to collect any of the like, they’d rather pile up their treasures in an unnaturally heavy homework directory... and maybe even a few more, if one’s preferences were particularly uncanny. Just to be on the safe side.

In short, if one were to imagine the stereotypical room for a nerd, then ‘his’ room would surely be at the tip top of the bunch.  

Flow truly believed he had everything he needed to live in this messy abode of his. The teen in question, whose hoodie and loose pants were far from fashionable, was curved over his desk as his large frame typed away.

With the exception of school, which the state forced him to attend by law, he would not leave this sanctuary of his if he had a choice. There was always food, as well as enough weed to cause a civil war in a ghetto, lying about in some dark corner. And to complete the holy trinity, the trashiest of trap and rap songs played in the background nonstop. If it weren’t for the soundproofing he had got done early on, he doubted he and his father could have kept on living in the house this long without being evicted, if not arrested. Before long, they would have had to face charges for rupturing of eardrums and unknowingly converting some neighbor’s impressionable kids to a life of drugs, alcohol, “thug life” and STDs.

Flow sat in his chair, eyes red and fingers nimbly dancing on the keyboard, hard at work as he was with his programming side-gig…

Slam. Behind him, the door opened. 

“Son, are you done? This is half a million dollars I’m waiting for here.” The man who walked in was Flow’s father. One could mistake him for David Beckham... if only he weren’t even more manly. With a face full of a red beard, finely groomed too at that, he was quite the eye-candy. He was wearing an expensive suit, and under his arms was a fancy suitcase worthy of wolf street.

“Well, if a certain someone had finished his section on time, this wouldn’t be happening now would it!” croaked Flow as he put the finishing touches to the ‘baby’ with an encryption software of his creation.

“Son, like I said plenty of times, I am a man of many responsibilities. That’s the curse of a parent, it’s a thankless life, really.” Said Ben with a face full of remorse.

Flow turned around and brusquely threw a flash drive to his father, “Last I checked, I do most of the work.”

Ben pointed to some ashes on the ground and said, “You do most of the weed too. Ever heard of puff-puff-pass?”

Flow took off his hoodie and said, “Ever heard of child abuse? I’ve missed the first month of school because of this.”

“If an uncorrupted police officer came in here, I doubt it’d be child abuse they’d be looking to put me behind bars with. Look at this beauty...” Ben laughed as he planted a kiss on the flash drive. 

Then, he waved it before his son’s eyes, “Again, son, ours is a hundred percent a win-win relationship! You do the work...” He pointed to the disorderly room with a shrug, “you get the freedom to do whatever you want. Heck if I were you I would be hosting a party at this house everyday! Freedom son, that’s my gift to you.” Ben shamelessly patted his son’s shoulders and smiled.

“More like lazy parenting.” Flow muttered as the view of his father’s back disappeared into the corridor. As he barely heard the front door close over the music, he got up, stretched, and lowered the volume as he headed downstairs. On the way down, he took off his characteristic hoodie and recoiled at the smell of weed, cigarette smoke and alcohol.

Flow Sterling was his name. A bit odd, sure, but legally so. His dad had given him the option of legally changing his name. Let’s just say that Flow sounded better than Florence to the 12 year old him of back then. A few years later, he still believed he had made the right choice.

With floating lines of code still flowing before his aching eyes, Flow took a comfortable shower and made his own breakfast. Sausages, bacon and eggs. Simple but delicious. 

Even after having lowered the volume, profanities, curses and arguable tracks were blasting all over the house. Once again, he thanked silicon valley, or who knows whatever other genius of the world for coming up with sound insulation. 

Bobbing his head and moving his body as if possessed by the rythm, Flow moved to the table. Somehow, he managed not to spill anything, and grabbed onto a fork and knife, lifting them in the air as the chorus kicked in... and finally having them begin their work as the drop exploded the speakers. With a pleased expression, he chowed down his food as if he were living just to eat, rather than eating to live.

Flow was chubby, but also much taller than most his age. Clearly, his genes hadn’t betrayed him, as his parents had given him at least the one gift of a tall physique and a charming face. His dark eyes were like black holes. He had a straight nose and lips that were just thick enough. His hair was also pitch black, and the caramel brown skin had no imperfections…which was a source of much chagrin to him. People used to accuse him of using beauty products, and he found it rather amusing.

Flow was naturally muscular as he had that large of a frame. With enough training, he could probably make a decent high-school linebacker. Alas that wasn’t his thing. Rather than playing, he had always very much preferred watching. Hence, the posters one might otherwise find in the room of a jock sticking out from the rest of his collection. Hoodies, comics, games, rap, computers... Those things encapsulated his entire life. Beauty products had yet to find a place there, and he doubted they’d ever will.

With little time on the clock, the boy changed into some clean clothes: a t-shirt, a pair of ripped jeans... and a hoodie as the finishing touch. He picked up his bag and placed it over his shoulder. He checked one last time that he didn’t have any weed sticking out of strange places, and cleaned up some tobacco that had somehow found itself in his pockets. All clear. After all, he didn’t need a repeat of that one time...

Earphones on and in, he left the house. It would lock itself when it would notice that it had been empty for more than 5 minutes, and similarly could be opened via fingerprints and retina recognition software. It was a nice, up with the times residence, quite to the boy’s liking.

It had a few other perks, one of which was that it was only a few miles away from the school he was supposed to be attending: the state’s jewel, North View Academy.