That Time I Drank Vanilla Soy Chai Tea Lattes With Jay-Z
The sun was shining bright, and the air was warm. Meteorologists had predicted that the high was going to be close to 83 degrees that day, but somehow we escaped that harsh sentence and settled somewhere near the more tolerable temperature of 78. Somewhere in the distance, the excited yelps of a dog could be heard as if it were calling out to anyone within earshot to take notice of the world around them. Whether or not the people that shuffled through the busy city streets could understand the dog or wasn't apparent, but the slight breeze that ruffled the fabric of their clothing was enough to divert their attention from being mesmerized by their phones, if only for a little bit. However, all of these wonderful bits of daily minutia was lost upon me because I was currently drinking Vanilla Soy Chai Tea Lattes with Jay-Z.
Hova Hovito and I remained engaged in a conversation that, at times, had me as animated as it had him subdued, and vice versa. The God MC sipped his caffeinated confection as he launched into recounting the motivations and pathology he had during his more formative years selling drugs in the hardscrabble Marcy Projects of New York City. A thin line of nutmeg sprinkled foam adorned Jiggaman's upper lip as he described the harrowing details in which he himself witnessed the demise of close friends and loved ones. An almost too delicate sneeze escaped Lucky Lefty (of the Commission)'s mouth from the chai seasoning tickling his nose right as he was characterizing the young man that he once was and how that young man came to pursue the art of making music. I listened, fully enthralled in S Dot's heart-rending narrative save for the few moments my eyes wandered over to the pastry case on the banister near the baristas. It had cherry preserve and cream cheese danishes behind the glass display, and I am nothing if not gluttonous.
I'm not finished, man, but I was a famished man, so I ordered a biscuit with a side of grape jam as he waxed romantic about the first time he met Beyonce. "Beyonce?" I did say. "Your future fiancee?" He nodded sagely. "The one you wed in matrimony and mother to Blue Ivy?" I said concisely. "My respite from the tempest that manifests in my day to day." He said shrewdly. The fact that our manner of speaking was burgeoning on Seuss-sian levels was not lost on me, but I did not care. The entire exchange between Hova Hovito and myself was every second of every dream that I've ever had, and I was going to savor every goddamn second of it despite whatever tinge of comic absurdity this interaction may have.
After a few minutes of comparing our preferred thread count of bed sheets (Mine in the lower 750s. His in the mid 800s), we got up from our small bistro table and made our way to the bustling sidewalk outside. We quickly said our goodbyes and, after him explicitly requesting that I not mention our time together to Kanye West because, as he put it, "I just can't right now.", we went our separate ways. Whatever rays of sunlight that could elude the obstruction of billboards and city buildings shone brightly upon my face as I walked towards my car. A light breeze slightly disheveled my shirt. The yelps of an excited dog became fainter and fainter in the background as I continued to move away from its source. Yet, all I could think about was how much I enjoyed drinking Vanilla Soy Chai Tea Lattes with Jay-Z.