This which we live in, this era of shade … a space where shade is thrown in cyber parks as one would a ball … you know, like back in the old days
A space where shade; this shadow, sly as cigarette smoke, is finally, at last, indeed a substance one could catch … a thing one could feel, as one would a slap, or no, stab, a stab,
A thing one could smell, miles away, whiffs looming, drifting, our senses have evolved to the vultures sniff, oh did he just throw me some shade? Honey that smells like shade…
So shade is tossed around town, bossing over bitches, tainting lips with cruel kisses as we wince and sip, like one would a sturdy blunt, infecting our lungs with second-hand inhalation, while we pick up shade that was at times never heading for us.
Then in a whirl of rage we fling it back with Olympian fervour, whipping casualties in its way, slaying pedestrians.
This is the era of shade, one where you are only liable to die young if you refuse to evade.