The dusk is nothing, LeBron, does it dark where you live? Is there a horse for you to ride, through the fire, LeBron? I picture your haters, and you, breathing in the paint, drinking in the television. Like there’s a hoop island that fills with LeBron. Beautiful beaches. LeBron, you screw yours. You sleet fire LeBron. You sleet fire and, like, our wife threatens to leave us. She says we have no real friends, LeBron. There’s an island for LeBrons only. Put your shades on, LeBron. Let’s ride thru together, LeBron, like one hoops. You and your big-ass horse. Me, my big-ass horse. Oh how we murder shit. Ours becomes blessed, LeBron. Our wife accepts us. The people prick their shit up. They see our bodies together. How often do you pleasure on your horse? Do you watch television with your horse before bed? Where I’m at it’s dusk, LeBron.