Monday afternoon, Marcus was at work pretending to fold shirts at Foot Locker when his phone buzzed.
@WhoDatATL DM'd:
> "Yo lil bro, y'all tryna set up at our pop-up this weekend? Bout 500 ppl gon' be there. Hit me back ASAP."
Marcus almost dropped the stack of Jordan 1s he was supposed to be shelving.
"Aye, what the fuck!" he said out loud.
His manager, Mr. Leonard — a balding, bitter old man — shot him a look.
"Watch yo mouth, Marcus," he barked.
"Watch yo hairline, Leonard," Marcus muttered under his breath.
He snuck to the back room and hit up Devonte.
Marcus:
> "Bro we got invited to sell at a pop-up!!! This Saturday!!"
Devonte:
> "Niggaaaaaaaaaa we outchea."
Marcus:
> "Nigga we not ready tho. We got like…4 hoodies."
Devonte:
> "Idc. Fake it til we make it bitch."
---
That Night at Marcus's House
The living room was a damn hoodie factory.
Marcus's mom peeked in wearing her church robe.
"What in THEE hell y'all doin'?"
"Business, Ma!" Marcus called over the sound of the ironing machine.
Devonte was hunched over the coffee table pressing logos onto hoodies with a $20 Walmart heat press.
"We entrepreneurs, Miss Yvonne," Devonte said, grinning.
She gave them a look like "Mmmhm, I bet."
Then she waved a hand and disappeared into the kitchen, mumbling "Y'all bet' not burn my carpet wit' that cheap-ass machine."
---
They had exactly:
15 hoodies
7 T-shirts
3 fake beanies they got off Amazon
and hella dreams.
No hangers.
No tables.
No card reader.
No professional setup.
"We ghetto as fuck," Marcus said, staring at the tiny pile of clothes.
"Nah, nigga — we grassroots," Devonte corrected.
"That's just ghetto wit' a fancy name," Marcus said.
They both cracked up.
---
Saturday Morning — The Big Day
They pulled up to Southside Mall, trunk rattling, hoodies stuffed in garbage bags.
"Nigga we look like we selling bootleg DVDs," Marcus said.
"Shut up. We trendsetters," Devonte said, adjusting his homemade "BlkSoul CEO" badge he printed on printer paper and laminated with tape.
When they walked into the pop-up event — it was CHAOS.
Every other booth looked all fancy:
Big ass banners
Ring lights
TikTok influencers doing corny ass dances
Girls with BBLs selling waist trainers
Niggas selling $60 durags talking 'bout "luxury velvet."
Meanwhile, BlkSoul had... two folding chairs and a dream.
"Fuck it, we here now," Marcus said, heart pounding.
They set up their little table, stacking hoodies like it was bricks.
Tamia popped up outta nowhere, chewing gum loud as hell.
"Ayeeee! Look at y'all! All unprofessional n shit!"
"Bitch help us or get out the way," Devonte said.
Tamia cackled and grabbed a beanie, modeling it dramatically.
"I'm finna get y'all sales UP, hoe!"
---
First Hour = NOTHING.
Nobody bought shit.
People walked by like they was allergic.
One chick even squinted at a hoodie and said:
"$50??? Damn, y'all high as giraffe pussy!"
Marcus wanted to crawl under the table.
Devonte just laughed it off.
"Aye, quality cost, baby!" he called after her.
But Marcus was dying inside.
---
THEN...
Outta nowhere — this little fine ass girl pulled up, wearing a cropped denim jacket and big hoop earrings.
"Ooh, this cute as hell!" she said, flipping through the hoodies.
Marcus straightened up immediately, fixing his posture like a lil soldier.
"Yeah, uh... it's all limited edition," he stammered.
She smiled — bright, pretty — and pulled out cash.
"Lemme get two. Black and olive green."
TWO HOODIES. CASH. NO QUESTIONS.
Marcus damn near fainted.
---
Then the floodgates opened.
Somebody took a pic of her wearing the hoodie and posted:
> "BlkSoul booth at Southside Mall goin' crazy y'all!!!"
[photo of her grinning in the hoodie]
The post started flying.
People started sliding over.
Girls:
> "Omg, these so cute!"
Hood dudes:
> "Bet lemme get two XLs, fuck it."
Old heads:
> "Y'all got somethin' in 3X? My nephew big-boned."
Tamia started yelling fake shit to get the crowd hyped.
"ONLY A FEW LEFT! Y'ALL BETTA MOVE YO FEET!"
Devonte started dapping niggas up like he was a rapper at Rolling Loud.
Marcus was sweating but smiling, taking cash, counting on his fingers like he was tryna pass a math test.
They sold out in TWO HOURS.
Every hoodie. Every tee. Every fake beanie.
Gone.
---
After the Madness
They sat on the curb outside the mall, exhausted, sweaty, and high off life.
Garbage bags empty.
Pockets full.
Tamia was fanning herself with a $20 bill.
"Bitch, we made it!" she shrieked.
Devonte was laying on the ground like he just finished running a marathon.
"Nigga... I'm bout to buy me a lil chain tomorrow," he mumbled.
Marcus just sat there smiling, looking up at the Atlanta sky.
For once, it felt like the city was rooting for them.
They was still broke.
Still figuring shit out.
Still messy.
Still hungry.
But goddamn it...they was building something real.
Together.
"On God," Marcus whispered, grinning.
Devonte cracked one eye open.
"What?"
"I said...we up next, bitch."
Devonte grinned wide, teeth showing.
"On God."