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There is a rotating crew of visitors on hand, in addition to two ever-present helpers – Shootrr, who shoots Future's Instagram pictures, and Nyce, his videographer.(Future's personal assistant, an efficient woman named Ebonie, is elsewhere in the studio complex.) A rapper named Mexico Mark hangs around for a while.
On a shelf in the corner are liter bottles of sugary sodas – Sprite, Pineapple Sunkist, Strawberry Fanta – mixers for a bottle of codeine cough syrup adorned with a picture of Homer Simpson.Eventually, without a word, Future disappears into the vocal booth, in front of a portrait of Jay Z, and begins rapping.After years of collaboration, he and Firkins have an uncanny bond: Without any instruction, the engineer always knows when to cue up the verse again, always understands which part to loop as the chorus.utside, it's rush hour, a still-sunny spring evening in Atlanta, but in here, you'd never know it.This room is windowless and dark, illuminated only by a projector shooting shimmering green stars onto the ceiling, a computer monitor displaying Pro Tools, and the glowing rack of gear beneath it.This is the beginning of the eighties and everybody is moving to the beat of Pop music, as the brand-new concept of the music video appears on television for the first time.
However, in Dublin, Conor, a teenager with a sensitive heart, is trying to deal with a tense family relationship, reconnect with his older brother while dealing with the hostile environment in his new public school. Tall, with long chestnut hair, a buttery complexion and big, dark eyes; an enigmatically beautiful girl standing in front of his school's gate, indolently observing people passing by. Surprisingly, with every lyric Conor writes, the gap narrows and with every song he plays, her heart fills with affection.
Seth Firkins, his longtime engineer, a friendly stoner with a John Belushi vibe, compares Future to a "medicine man." Firkins, who is parked semi-permanently in front of that Pro Tools monitor, plays a looped beat from one of Future's preferred producers – today there are tracks by Mike Will and Metro Boomin – while Future hangs out in the control room, maybe mumbling to himself, maybe smoking his blunt, maybe just pacing.
Until he gets on the mic, he can be silent for 45 minutes at a time.
High schooler Greg, who spends most of his time making parodies of classic movies with his co-worker Earl, finds his outlook forever altered after befriending a classmate who has just been diagnosed with cancer.
In the forests of the Pacific Northwest, a father devoted to raising his six kids with a rigorous physical and intellectual education is forced to leave his paradise and enter the world, challenging his idea of what it means to be a parent.
He's puffing on a blunt, taking a sip or two from a Styrofoam cup of the narcotic beverage mostly known to hip-hop fans as "lean" or "drank" or "sizzurp" before he helped rebrand it as "dirty Sprite." With his lyrical salutes to Xanax, codeine, Adderall and Oxycontin, he's one of the first rappers who could conceivably sign a sponsorship deal with Big Pharma: "I just took a piss and I seen codeine coming out," he rapped not long ago.