The Man Behind the Glass

In Boyz N The Hood (1991),

I used to watch the chaos.

The constant whoops from sirens in the distance.

Helicopters cutting across the sky.

One after one as if they’re running on a timed schedule.

Even the very eeriness of not being too comfortable the entire film.

Like at any moment something could go wrong.

Now I watch the window.

The camera drifts past liquor stores.

Iron bars on storefronts.

Children left in the street neglected.

Then it lands on glass.

Still and Clean and Unshaken.

FURIOUS FINANCIAL SERVICES.

In the middle of South Central.

The letters just sit there.

No neon. No flash.

Just presence.

Inside: fluorescent lighting.

A messy desk.

Papers stacked.

A man who doesn’t rush his breathing.

Outside: impulse.

Inside: Interest Rates.

That detail bothers me in a good way.

Because while everyone else is reacting,

he’s underwriting.

While everyone else is surviving,

he’s structuring.

The loudest thing about him isn’t his voice.

It’s that sign.

And here’s the uncomfortable part:

It’s easy to admire a man who already built it.

It’s harder to sit in the season before the glass.

Before the name.

Before the leverage.

Before the proof.

Before anyone slows the camera down for you.

Furious Styles wasn’t powerful because he was angry.

He was powerful because he understood the system

well enough not to be controlled by it.

That’s not inspiration.

That’s a standard.

And standards never clap for you.

They wait.