That means incarceration, and also drugs.
He’s wearing a red V-neck T-shirt, distressed gray denim shorts, a diamond chain with a diamond cross pendant, and a chunky black ankle monitor over a red sock sticking out of a spotless Air Jordan 4. Gucci is the picture of a man relaxed, sparkling even - warm, cheerful, peaceful. “It’s like you living in a forest,” Gucci said, still grinning. Inside, though, the décor is Miami Modern: white marble, white leather, white piano, white Maybach in the garage, exercise equipment in the living room, palm trees on either side of the living room - inside the living room. Situated at the end of a nondescript cul-de-sac, it’s barely distinguishable from its modest upper-middle-class neighbors. He smiles as she brings the plate to the table, smiles as he jabs a fork into it, smiles as she lovingly hovers over him.īut for the clink of the fork hitting the plate, the three-story house is quiet. Up in this airy house’s recording studio, Gucci - everyone calls him Gucci - smiles widely and makes his way downstairs, following the smell of a chicken-and-egg scramble.
It’s an early Thursday afternoon in June in this Atlanta suburb, and Keyshia Ka’oir calls out to her boyfriend, Gucci Mane, that breakfast is served.
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