Yall know how this go. Receipts. So here go the receipt for last night, itemized, cause somebody gone ask what it cost and what came back.
Ticket. KFC Yum! Center, President’s Suite. Yes a suite. Dont ask how. Some things stay between a woman and her plug.
Company. Two women from middle school. MIDDLE SCHOOL. Been knowing each other since before any of us could drive, and here we all are in the same suite on the same night singing the same words off key. The universe be sending me what I ask for. Did not even ask that loud.
Outfit. White tee, lashes, braids out, chains on, and a face that said we got here early and we not leaving early.
The man himself. Louisville’s own. He walked out and the whole building stood up like church when the pastor say turn to ya neighbor. Every song was somebody’s ex getting dragged and every woman in that suite was pointing at the stage like he was talking about hers. Hate to be an ex in that building last night. Hate it for them.
The surprise. Jack Harlow. JACK HARLOW. Out of nowhere, in his own city, on somebody else’s stage, and the sound that building made when he came out I will not try to describe cause I was part of it. Two Louisville men on one stage in Louisville. The city loves you. Both of yall.
Balance owed. Nothing. Not one thing. Came for a show, got a whole night that gone be told at cookouts till the grandkids tired of hearing it. We even.
Louisville stand up. 502 come up. Somebody bring me a water.
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