By Sunday morning, Marcus's phone was having a full-on seizure.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
He cracked one eye open, groaning.
Who the fuck was blowin' him up at 8:37AM?
It was Instagram.
And Twitter.
And his texts.
And three missed FaceTimes from Devonte, who apparently didn't believe in sleep.
Marcus blinked at the screen, brain still fried.
@BlxSoul_Official
3,285 new followers
1,087 DMs
112 comments
What the fuck.
He scrolled through the notifications, heart racing:
> "Bro these hoodies cold af, when they dropping???"
> "Y'all need models? Cuz I'm tryna be in the next shoot lmao."
> "Niggas made hoodies next to a trashcan and still ate wtf."
> "Man, fuck Supreme, I'm rockin' with BlkSoul now on God!"
> "NOOOO THIS HARD AS HELL WTF WHO MADE THIS?!?"
And then, because the internet was undefeated:
> "These hoodies cute but ion wanna smell like raccoon piss n dumpster oil."
> "Yo one of y'all need some chapstick frfr but I'm still copping."
Marcus threw his phone across the bed and buried his face in the pillow.
"I hate everybody," he mumbled.
---
Devonte wasn't helping.
He pulled up to Marcus's house ten minutes later, banging on the front door like the police.
"Open the fuck up, bro! We famous!"
Marcus stumbled downstairs in a hoodie and socks, hair sticking up.
"Bruh, I'm not ready for this shit," he said, cracking the door open.
Devonte barreled in anyway, hyped up like he just won the lottery.
"Nigga we UP. We out the MUD!" he shouted, throwing his arms wide. "I'm talkin' chainz, hoes, Lambo trucks, iced-out grills! Nigga we finna get real disrespectful!"
Marcus rubbed his face. "Calm yo loud ass down before my moms think the feds here."
Devonte shoved his phone in Marcus's face, grinning.
New Post from @whodatatl (local meme page):
> "These two lil bad ass niggas from the SWATS just dropped the hardest shit out the city and they did it next to a whole-ass dumpster. Legendary shit."
55,000 likes.
Reposted by @rappersbelike, @HoodVineResurrected, and @fashionkillaatl.
Marcus's stomach dropped. In a good way.
Or a terrifying way. He couldn't tell yet.
---
Meanwhile in the DMs...
Random Girl #1:
> "yall cute asl can i model for u for free or whatever lol."
Random Dude:
> "on god if yall dont drop a pre-order by friday ima fight both yall."
Old Cousin Jerome:
> "Lil cuzz, let me get 3 hoodies fa free. You know blood thicker than money lmao."
Random Troll:
> "this shit overhyped. hoodie look like yall printed it at the Shell gas station."
Marcus tossed the phone onto the couch. "I'm stressed, bruh."
Devonte flopped down next to him. "Nigga, this what we wanted! We can't fold now. Pressure make diamonds, remember?"
"Pressure make ulcers too," Marcus grumbled.
"Pussy," Devonte said, grinning.
Marcus flipped him off half-heartedly.
---
The Problem:
They had ZERO inventory.
Like literally. No extra hoodies. No website up.
Not even a fucking PayPal ready.
All they had was hype, clout, and a dream.
"Okay okay okay," Marcus said, pacing. "First...we gotta make a site."
"Squarespace, nigga," Devonte said immediately. "I seen the YouTube ads."
"Bet. Then...we need money to buy hoodies in bulk."
They both fell silent.
Money.
Marcus had maybe $84.17 to his name. Devonte wasn't doing no better — he had about $50 from hustling on CashApp flipping sneakers.
"We broke broke," Marcus said.
"Broke as hell," Devonte agreed.
They stared at each other.
Then Devonte snapped his fingers. "FUCK IT. PREORDERS."
"Nigga...we can't scam people!"
"Not scam! Pre-orders! Like...they pay now, we deliver later. Just tell 'em two weeks shipping. Everybody do that shit!"
Marcus thought about it.
Kinda shady...but also kinda genius.
"You a evil-ass mastermind," he muttered.
Devonte leaned back, smug as hell. "Gotta use what God gave me: this dick and this hustle."
Marcus cracked up, finally feeling the stress loosen in his chest.
"Aight. Let's build this bitch then."
---
[Later That Night – Launching the Site]
They threw together a janky ass Squarespace website in five hours.
Basic as hell but functional:
BlkSoulCo.com
> Hoodie: $49.99
Tee: $24.99
"Allow 2-3 weeks for shipping. Support Black Dreams."
They posted the link.
And within ten minutes:
> 1 sale
5 sales
18 sales
32 sales
Marcus and Devonte were screaming, running around the room like fools.
Tamia FaceTimed in, bonnet and all.
"Nigga y'all gon' have to print them hoodies out yo mama kitchen at this rate!"
"BITCH WE RICH!" Devonte shouted.
Tamia fell out laughing.
---
But not everybody was rooting for them.
On Twitter:
> "man these niggas corny af lmao idgaf bout no dumpster drip"
> "bet they mama ironing the logos on right now in the living room"
> "$50??? they can eat my dick wit bbq sauce."
Marcus saw the hate.
It burned a little, not gon' lie.
But then he saw the love, too:
> "support Black-owned businesses, PERIOD."
> "this that shit we need to be backing frfr."
> "young kings building empires out the trenches. RESPECT."
Marcus grinned, heart pounding.
"Fuck 'em," Devonte said, peeking at Marcus's screen. "If they ain't hatin', we ain't workin' hard enough."
Marcus nodded.
They wasn't just playing anymore.