Lola Brooke is tryna dust my ass on a go-kart track. We've pulled up to Jersey City's RPM Raceway on a gray afternoon in May. The rapper rolls in, wearing a Cuban-link bussdown and thick Louis Vuitton shades, with the same energy she has arriving to the recording studio: two hands in the air (and a hearty "Hey, what's goood?"), geeked to go at it. There's a kind of knowing written on her face. Brooke's other name for herself is Big Gator, and it's easy to see why she feels kinship with the reptile-how it lurks in absolute stillness, anticipating its prey's entry to its airspace. As we take off, drifting and swerving through tight turns, I pass Brooke ("Lolita" on the track) and give her the Luigi stare down. The laps come and go with a few bumps and slowdowns, but I'm positive I got the win-up until we take our helmets off and look up at the scoreboard: Brooke has me beat by one second. She flashes that same knowing smirk, and my grin turns into a hung jaw. The gator doesn't sleep; it stews.
Diese Geschichte stammt aus der July 3 - 16, 2023-Ausgabe von New York magazine.
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Diese Geschichte stammt aus der July 3 - 16, 2023-Ausgabe von New York magazine.
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