Mic Check One Two

Stiff neck snapped loose. Heavy belly heaved up. I opened my jaw, gripped the cold silver mic locked in my stubby right fist, and let out a raw, rattling grunt into the open air. The steel grill buzzed against my thumb. It vibrates, loud and mean. Nobody told me I could spit noise, but here I am, shaking the asphalt and claiming the breeze. Hear that, world? Back off.