[hr][hr][center][URL=http://fontmeme.com/freefonts/1080/still_time.font][IMG]http://fontmeme.com/freefonts/img.php?f=1080&s=55&t=There's%20Gonna%20Be%20Good%20Times&c=844dff[/IMG][/URL][hr][img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/4d/82/dc/4d82dc48bac26d6a2151d321d586fb58.jpg[/img][hr][color=844dff][b][i]"Good time ay, come have a good time."[/i]
-Popcaan[/b][/color][hr][@Dirty Pretty Lies] [@Altered Tundra] [@SilentObserver][hr][/center]

The bird pecked against the window, gazing at the sleeping form of Jean-Jacques. It was a still morning, not many people were up and it was as peaceful as it should be. There was still the sound of cars zooming by and the occasional chattering voices of people made itself heard. Miami was still bright as a torch in the morning and sunlight crept into the room, annoying it's occupant greatly as he put the covers over his head, groaning in annoyance. The sore muscles from yesterday's training hasn't faded away and it worked away at him, making the half-French/half-Ivoirian male sleep in way more than he usually did. Must've been his forgetfulness to set his alarm clock earlier for his weights session. The loud, phat beats of Desiigner's [i]Panda[/i] blasted in his ear, the sound piercing through the silence of his apartment.

[color=blue]"I got broads in Atlanta!"[/color] Light green eyes flew open as Desiigner almost tore his eardrums apart. He jolted up suddenly, covers flying off of him as he clumsy lunged for the pause button. Unfortunately, the bruise on the right side made him wince in pain and bend his body in the wrong way. Instead, he missed his bedside table and came crashing to the floor, tumbling to the ground with a loud crash, the carpet saving him from any sort of scrapes but still earned him a grunt. [color=blue]"Bitch n**** pull up ya panty"[/color] The Ivoirian bit his lip and pointed the middle finger at the alarm from the ground and grumbled, getting up with a hand on his back, slamming down on his 'stupid' alarm clock. He bent backwards, earning him a few cracks and pops before he stretched his arms above his head, yawning.

He turned towards the clock and stared at the numbers on the screen. [color=crimson]6:30 am.[/color] The fuck? He thought he put the clock on the right setting. He usually went to the gym as early as possible to build muscle before starting his day. He groaned quietly. Yvonne was going to kill him the next time he sees her. His trainer seemed like your typical blonde cutie, puffed up lips, blonde hair and blue eyes. If he wasn't professional, he would've tried to ask her out. But behind those cerulean laid a demon that could make grown men cry, behind those lips holds a voice like a banshee and behind that blonde hair was... a scalp. He shook his head and blew the thoughts away.

He scratched the back of his head, straightening his back and went on to doing his usual routine. Wash his face, clean himself, eat some protein heavy breakfast and then move to the punching bag to do some morning boxing. His fists met the bag with a solid hit, a big thumping sound resonating in his ears, sweat dripping from his forehead. Every hit was powerful, his arms like a piston, fists curled tight as the bag shook behind every punch. He wiped the bead of sweat from his brow and peered at the clock once more. [color=crimson]7:00 am.[/color]

What was I supposed to do again? He stared at the clock for a considerable long time until it hit ten past seven. His widened and he cursed in French "[i][color=844dff]Motherfucking shit fuck in the dick![/color][/i]" Dry up, put some pants on, grab his bags, passports and then hit the road. He hurried through his house with a quickness in each step, stepping over forgotten clothes and furniture. He crashed into his room, grabbed a pair of sweatpants and shoes, forgetting the socks along the way. He slung his backpack on one shoulder, grabbing his luggage and putting his rugby ball under one arm. He kicked his front door, swinging it open and closing it with one movement, the clicking sound of a door locking smothered by the sound of hurried steps on cement steps.

Once he got everything in his [url=http://www.ford.com/resources/ford/mustang/2016/highlights/mustang16_highlight_lg_orange.jpg]car[/url]. The beginnings of a traffic jam was forming on the road and so he sped quickly through the road, flipping the bird at people who cut him off and shouting in French curse words. He was the farthest away from the airport out of everyone and so he was held back for an age. Sweat began to form on his brow as he focused on the road, Jean peering as a droplet hit his bare, naked chest. His eyes widened. He finally arrived.

After a brief altercation at the gates, a TSA lady staring at him with a weird look and several heads spinning towards him, he arrived first at 10:am exactly, to see the couple standing around with Tish. He smiled at them with wide arms, muscles rippling, tattoos covering every inch of him, half-naked and totally oblivious. He called out with a smile "[i][color=844dff]Bonjour![/color][/i]"