This is Our Heaven

2006

The streets of Wilmington, Delaware buzzed with industrial energy. The closeness of people on the street permitted little room. The thoughts and bodies in motion spoke of the business that transacted in the Corporate Capital of the World.

Kani Pridgen walked with his friend Avid McDaniels.

“So we’re going to hustle these tapes?” Pridgen asked.

“That’s right,” MalcDaniel said.

“We paid all the copyright fees. We could give these things away for free,” McDaniel snickered.

The two of them found a spot to set up and distribute to the block legalized crack.

“What do you think we’ll do? 5K? 25K?”

“We could do more than that.”

Pridgen rubbed his palms together. The two men set up a tent and started displaying the CDs like a cascading waterfall of plastic. They kept in mind their sense of how to sell. They had rehearsed the sales pitch simply…there was none. Everyone had already heard about Avid in the street and wanted to be part of history. The two sat back and watched the dollars roll in.

“I don’t know man,” Pridgen said. “I mean we’re making good money but we’re also not on a label.”

“That’s alright,” McDaniels countered. “This tape is going to be our ticket to ride. After we prove ourselves in the streets, the industry is going to be knocking down our door wanting to sign us.”

Pridgen sighed as he counted the money.

“Here, put this in the cash box,” he ordered McDaniels.

“It just seems like we’re not going to move enough units for the industry to fully recognize our talent. I mean I can DJ and you can rap but that’s not going to be enough. A&Rs, street teams, record execs, they’re all going to be sticking to us like flypaper.”

“Don’t dwell on it. When we pop off, we’re going to be the first ones from Delaware to really put it on smash nationally. We’re going to be pioneers!”

Pridgen felt more subdued as he continued to count. “This is good money. Once we are able to secure a contract, we’ll set up licensing and publishing deals, and one day own our masters,” he mentioned.

“What?! I’m just here to do shows and cop clothes,” McDaniels replied.

“You’ve got to think for the long term. Ten, twenty, thirty years ago down the line,” Pridgen warned.

McDaniels scoffed. “As long as I’ve got a beat and the streets love me, I’m going to be alright. And don’t worry about the business. I’m going to have my own clothes, liquor, and an enormous house with a studio. I’ll record every day.”

“You can record all you want but will you own?”

McDaniels stopped cold. He had never thought of owning the records, just making them and making money from them.

“I can deal with the labels,” Pridgen said. “I’ve got more information on how to extend our careers and diversify—”

“‘Diversify’? Are you a banker at Diamante or something?” McDaniels sneered.

“I’m serious. This game brings out more failed careers than those that go in it. If you want to be another part of that long list of names that ran out of gas and ended up smoking their money or blowing it, please…feel free. But you’re not going to stop me from advancing up that ladder.”

“What ladder? It’s only the hood where we come from. We have short attention spans and high murder rates for such a small town. We could go back to the block broke and disgruntled or we can let this thing elevate,” McDaniel pointed out.

Pridgen sold the last of the tapes. “I’m looking at least $300,000 we cleared today. I’m glad it’s tax free shopping because the volume of customers grew ten percent,” Pridgen observed.