I love the part of your story about the poetry slam. The story works without that context, but the fact you had this conversation at a poetry slam, surrounded by (in my imagination) bad poetry and snapping beatniks really elevated it somehow
some more scenery, a echo-y microphone, incense and essential oils so strong it hurts your head, a very dimly lit room, a mother and son poetry duo, african statues placed haphazardly around the room.
I love the part of your story about the poetry slam. The story works without that context, but the fact you had this conversation at a poetry slam, surrounded by (in my imagination) bad poetry and snapping beatniks really elevated it somehow
some more scenery, a echo-y microphone, incense and essential oils so strong it hurts your head, a very dimly lit room, a mother and son poetry duo, african statues placed haphazardly around the room.