New whips Old Friends

The Atlanta sun was hanging low, gold and blazing, when Devonté stepped back to admire his freshly revived ’99 Tahoe. The paint, jet black with a subtle metallic flake, shimmered like it had just rolled off a showroom floor. Deep chrome rims, brand-new tires, and a low rumble under the hood spoke louder than any words could.

A stocky older man with a rag over his shoulder leaned on the driver’s side door, nodding with pride.

Shop Owner:

“Man, you sittin’ in a brand-new truck now. Rebuilt motor, brand-new transmission, upgraded suspension, fresh brakes, A/C cold enough to freeze time, and a custom exhaust. You good, young blood—better than good. You ready.”

Devonté (grinning):

“She feel tight. Smooth. Appreciate you, for real.”

Shop Owner:

“You welcome. She yours now—go turn heads.”

Devonté climbed in, the seat hugging him like home. He pulled off slow, letting the Tahoe growl low down the block. It was more than a truck—it was a statement. Just as he turned onto the main road, his phone started ringing on the dash.

Caller ID: Ruby

He smirked, nostrils flaring slightly, then let it ring a couple times before answering.

Devonté (playfully stressed):

“What you want, girl?”

Ruby (laughing):

“Boy, shut up. You always answer like I’m the bill collector. What’s up, fool?”

Devonté:

“You know me… chillin’, tryna stay out the way.”

Ruby:

“You never in the way—just hard to catch. So talk to me. What’s new? How you and Alesse?”

Devonté (sighs):

“We not. That’s done. No more engagement, no more frontin’. I’m focused on me now.”

Ruby:

“Damn… for real? You alright?”

Devonté:

“I’m solid. God got me. What about you and the fam?”

Ruby:

“Same old. Mama still nosy, lil bro still bad, and I’m still tryna figure it out.”

Devonté (grinning):

“I met somebody though.”

Ruby:

“Oh? Already? You don’t waste time.”

Devonté:

“Nah. It wasn’t like that. I was gettin’ my windshield fixed she was there getting hers done too. And I knew she ain’t have no man or at least not one worth anything ‘cause she was takin’ care of it herself. Handled it. Didn’t blink.”

Ruby:

“Mmm. That says a lot.”

Devonté:

“She came to the house too. Just chilled. Now she talkin’ ‘bout cooking for me.”

Ruby:

“Ohhhh. You like her.”

Devonté (smirking):

“How you figure?”

Ruby:

“I hear it. In your voice, playa.”

Devonté (chuckling):

“Shut up. Anyway, I’m headed to this cigar lounge. You free? Pull up.”

Ruby:

“Say less. Drop me the location.”

Scene: The Cigar Lounge

The lounge sat quietly behind a row of old storefronts—nothing flashy, but the kind of spot that stayed alive through word of mouth. Devonté backed the Tahoe into a shady spot, its fresh paint catching side-eyes from a couple of old heads posted near the entrance.

One of them tipped his hat.

OG:

“That you in the Tahoe? That’s a beauty right there.”

Devonté:

“Appreciate it. Just got her back today.”

He stepped inside the lounge and was hit with cool air and a warm scent of cedar, smoke, and masculinity. The walls were lined with cigar boxes and black-and-white jazz portraits. Standing near the front was a life-sized wooden Native American statue carved from rich cedar, smooth from years of touch.

Devonté (to himself):

“Damn. They still got this thing?”

He walked past the statue and got a table in the back. A waitress in a headwrap and locs brought him a drink—whiskey, neat—and a light.

Not long after, Ruby walked in. Cute but chill—jeans, sandals, hoop earrings, and confidence. She spotted him immediately and smirked.

Ruby:

“Okay Mr. Showroom, I see you!”

Devonté (laughing):

“You late.”

Ruby:

“You early. What you smokin’ on?”

They dapped up, hugged briefly, and slid into the booth. She ordered a ginger ale and leaned back, soaking in the mellow vibe.

Ruby:

“Man… I forgot how nice this spot is. Smell like grown men and secrets in here.”

Devonté (laughing):

“That’s the vibe. Ain’t no IG stories in here. Just wood, jazz, and truth.”

They talked. And talked. About friends who moved away. About ones who didn’t make it. About the corner store that’s now a Pilates studio. About gentrification creeping through the city like mold under paint.

Devonté:

“That’s why I’m focused now. Alesse was cool, but we weren’t aligned. She wanted the wedding… I want the land. I’m grabbing whatever they haven’t taken from us yet. Quiet flips. No flash.”

Ruby (respectfully):

“You got a vision. That’s rare.”

Devonté:

“Yeah. And then there’s Imani.”

Ruby:

“That’s her name?”

Devonté (softly):

“Yeah. Imani. She makes me smile. It’s simple, but real. No pressure, no games. She talk to me like she know me. She look at me like she see through me—but not in a bad way. Just… like she knows I’m more than what I show.”

Ruby (leaning back):

“You talkin’ different, D. And I like it. Just don’t lose yourself in her.”

Devonté:

“Nah, I ain’t lost. If anything, I’m more found than I been in a while.”

They clinked glasses. The booth wrapped them in comfort as jazz filled the air. The world outside moved fast, but in that back corner—between two old friends and some heavy truths—everything was exactly where it needed to be