Hunter sits slouched on the couch, dressed in a black Raiders hoodie, his buzz cut and thick beard catching the last glimmers of daylight. The only movement in the room is the flicker of the TV screen and the rhythmic tapping of Hunter’s fingers against a can of soda. On the screen, the VHS whirs and crackles, preparing to play a tape marked "N.W.A. 1988 - Live."

Ice Cube (1988) clutches the mic, a gold chain swinging as he spits bars with raw energy. Eazy-E bobs beside him, grinning, while Dre nods to the thumping beat. The crowd's cheers bleed into the living room, merging past and present. Hunter leans forward, eyes fixed, caught between admiration and longing.

Ice Cube (1988)[/@ch_2] delivers the iconic "Straight Outta Compton" verse, sweat shining on his forehead.] "Man, look at Cube go... So young, so hungry," he mutters, voice tinged with nostalgia and a hint of envy. The thumping bass and lyrics echo around him, stirring memories of missed chances and the passage of time.

Ice Cube (1988)[/@ch_2] does onscreen. The performance winds down, but Hunter’s world feels electrified, as if the energy from 1988 has seeped into the present.] "People always said I looked like Cube, but it’s more than looks, you know? It’s attitude, it’s survival," he says to the empty room, voice low but determined. The tape clicks to a stop, leaving only static and the distant sounds of the city.

"Maybe it’s time to make my own noise," he whispers, glancing one last time at the frozen image of Ice Cube (1988) and N.W.A. frozen mid-performance, forever immortalized in grainy video.

"Straight outta 1991... let’s see what I can do," he says, voice carrying softly into the night as he disappears down the street, ready to chase his own story.