It’s 1 P.M. On sunday and A$AP Rocky is lying on a sun-bleached wood banquette on the roof of his Hollywood home. With braided hair, an easy smile, and a square jaw, the kid’s not nicknamed Pretty Flacko for nothing. And from the canines back, top and bottom, his teeth glitter with pavé diamonds as an extra treat for the human eye. “I know it’s some weird shit,” Rocky says, fish-hooking his mouth with a finger to show off his new dental work. “But it’ll be cooler in two weeks, when it’s finished.”
Rocky is two all-nighters into a music-making bender and says he’s not tired, but he’s moving as if underwater and speaking in subdued non sequiturs. “It’s still my day before yesterday,” he says. And then, of the three-bedroom house with a beautiful kitchen and a treadmill where furniture should be: “I’m gonna miss it here. This was a place to fuck chicks, and I’ve outgrown it.”
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