Yugo Joe leaned back on the cracked vinyl couch, the hum of East Van traffic bleeding through the thin apartment walls like a constant reminder that nothing here was ever really quiet.
“Bro,” he muttered, lighting a cigarette he wasn’t supposed to have indoors, “you ever get that feeling… like they not just watching—but breathing with you?”
King Loo didn’t even look up from the busted laptop on the milk crate table. “You just figuring that out now?” he said dryly. “Man, they been up in our business since the flip phone days.”
Joe scoffed. “Nah, I’m serious. I went to grab a coffee this morning—same spot, same order—and the barista goes, ‘Back again?’ like she knew my whole life story. I ain’t never seen her before.”
Loo smirked. “Or maybe… hear me out… you have seen her before.”
Joe paused. “…You saying she’s an agent?”
“I’m saying,” Loo said, finally turning, “in East Van, everybody’s either three things: hustling, surviving, or reporting.”
Joe laughed, but it came out a little too sharp. “Man, I swear these guys got a file on me thicker than a phone book. ‘Subject: Yugo Joe. Eats too much late-night donair. Thinks he’s low-profile.’”
“Correction,” Loo said, raising a finger. “Thought he was low-profile.”
Joe shook his head. “It’s wild though. You try to live normal—next thing you know, your phone acting weird, your TV suggesting documentaries about people who disappear—”
“—and your Spotify playlist suddenly all surveillance-themed,” Loo added. “Yeah. Classic.”
They sat in silence for a second.
A siren wailed outside.
Joe leaned in. “You ever think maybe they got agents living in the building?”
Loo didn’t blink. “Apartment 3B.”
Joe froze. “What?”
“Guy with the ‘plant collection,’” Loo said. “No one waters that many plants unless they hiding microphones.”
Joe stared at him. “You serious right now?”
Loo shrugged. “Either that, or he just really loves ferns. But I don’t trust anyone that calm.”
Joe exhaled slowly. “Man… so what do we do?”
Loo closed the laptop with a snap. “Simple. We live louder.”
“Louder?”
“Yeah,” Loo said, grinning. “Give them something worth listening to. If they gonna be up our ass, might as well make it a show.”
Joe cracked a smile. “So what—you saying we lean into it?”
“I’m saying,” Loo replied, standing up and stretching, “if East Van’s a stage… we stop acting like extras.”
Joe stood too, nodding slowly. “Alright then. But if I start seeing drones outside my window—”
“You wave,” Loo said. “And charge them rent.”
Joe burst out laughing. “Man, imagine billing the government… ‘Surveillance fee: overdue.’”
“Exactly,” Loo said, heading for the door. “Now come on. Let’s go get that coffee again.”
Joe hesitated. “From the agent barista?”
Loo smirked. “Yeah. And this time… tip heavy. Confuse the hell outta them.”