Yes, Sammura, it says midnight. That's the cool thing about written words: they don't change and though you may be getting trails from the Soul Glo you dip in your hair, it's still written up there.

Just like I thought, you're chicken-shit. All of your ranting about crackas on a messageboard and you're afraid to journey out of that cheeto bag you call a home.

I'll be there at midnight, with a short blond chick, wearing a black trenchcoat just to the right of the DJ booth with $500 cash in my pocket. Show up, pose with me for a picture on a camera phone and it's yours.