internet killed the video star
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Summary
“hi - sorry, excuse me, are you shaqattaq?”
the shrill voice, straining to be heard over the noise of the barcade, isn’t one shaq recognizes. a part of him - the tipsy part - wants to be annoyed that they’re asking to make sure of who he is when his name is written right across his back, on the old garages jersey he threw on as an afterthought before leaving his hotel. but the rest of him is used to this by now, to being stopped in the grocery store and at airports because someone was able to connect the pink haired stranger passing by to the streamer they watch every week.
“yeah, that’s me,” he says, setting his drink on the bar and turning around with a broad grin. “are you a fan of the stream?”
(or: what if shaquille torres lived?)
Series
- Part 1 of internet killed the video star
