Scene: Same rooftop, but this time there’s a small glass coffee table set up with scattered papers, a rolled-up dollar bill, and a couple of neatly arranged lines of cocaine. Jack Ludkey sits back, looking skeptical but curious. Lil Peep’s ghost, glowing faintly, is crouched across from him, gesturing enthusiastically.
Jack: So, this is how dead legends have heart-to-hearts now? Drugs on a rooftop?
Lil Peep: (laughs, leaning forward) Bro, I’m a ghost—I’m not even snorting this for real. It’s just vibes. But you? You need to loosen up. You’ve got all this tension, all this overthinking.
Jack: Right. And you think coke is the solution?
Lil Peep: Nah, but it’s fun for the night. Let’s call it… a creative stimulant.
Jack: (hesitates, staring at the lines) This feels… irresponsible.
Lil Peep: (grinning) What’s the point of art if you’re not a little irresponsible sometimes? C’mon, it’s not like I can overdose again.
Jack: Dark joke, dude.
Lil Peep: It’s my style. Now quit stalling. You’ve got some questions about life, art, whatever. Let’s blow through ‘em—literally.
(Jack sighs, rolls his eyes, and leans forward, snorting one of the lines. He coughs slightly, blinking as the rush hits him.)
Jack: Oh… wow. That’s… yeah, okay.
Lil Peep: (laughing) There it is! Welcome to clarity—or chaos. They’re basically the same thing. What’s first on your mind?
Jack: (rubbing his nose, energized) Okay, so… does this all matter? Like, poetry, the late nights, all the brooding? Or is it just self-indulgent BS?
Lil Peep: (snorting his own line for show, even though it dissipates into mist) Dude, it’s both. That’s the beauty of it. You’re spilling your guts for strangers, yeah, but some kid out there is gonna read your stuff and feel seen. That’s the payoff. You’re building bridges with words.
Jack: But does it even last? I mean, look at you. You were huge, but now you’re… well, a ghost.
Lil Peep: (grinning) Exactly. That’s proof it lasts. People still play my tracks, still cry to my songs. Art’s like leaving pieces of your soul in the world—it sticks around even when you don’t.
Jack: (leans back, the rush making him talk faster) Alright, but what about the toll? It’s exhausting, man. The constant digging into your own wounds just to make something meaningful.
Lil Peep: That’s why you balance it. You can’t write only from pain, or it’ll eat you alive. Mix in the good stuff—love, joy, random rooftop nights like this. Pain’s loud, but it doesn’t have to be the only voice in the room.
Jack: Okay, okay. So you’re saying… channel it, don’t drown in it.
Lil Peep: Exactly. Plus, don’t forget to live a little. You gotta feed the muse. Go fall in love, get your heart broken, eat a bagel at 4 a.m.—whatever. Life fuels the art, bro.
(Jack nods, suddenly standing and pacing, scribbling furiously in his notebook. Lil Peep lounges back, smirking like a proud mentor.)
Jack: You’re weirdly good at this advice stuff. Were you this deep when you were alive?
Lil Peep: (shrugs) Probably not. Death makes you reflective. Plus, hanging with a poet like you sharpens the ghost game.
Jack: (grinning as he scribbles more) You’re a ridiculous spirit guide, but this… this is kinda working.
Lil Peep: (Lil Peep pulls out a bottle of Jäger) Try this vro.
Jack: (takes a swig, grimacing)
This stuff tastes like cough syrup and regret. How’d this become your go-to?
Lil Peep: (laughs, taking the bottle) Because it’s trashy in the best way. Perfect mix of bad decisions and no f**ks given. Plus, it keeps the vibes dark and mysterious. Chicks dig that.
Jack: (raising an eyebrow) Oh, so this is your big secret? Get drunk on Jäger and call it charisma?
Lil Peep: (grinning, taking a sip) Nah, bro. Jäger’s just the prop. The real secret? Confidence. But not fake, cocky sh*t. I’m talking about owning who you are, flaws and all.
Jack: (rolling his eyes) Easier said than done. I’m not exactly a rockstar.
Lil Peep: Doesn’t matter. You’re a poet, dude. You’ve got words—use ‘em. Girls love a guy who can make them feel seen, like they’re the only one in the room.
Jack: What, like… write them a sonnet on the spot? That feels a little… desperate.
Lil Peep: (laughs, clapping Jack on the back) Nah, don’t be that guy. Keep it casual. It’s not about performing—it’s about vibing. Talk to them like they’re already your best friend. Be real. Honest. Maybe a little flirty.
Jack: (takes another swig, skeptical) And if I mess it up?
Lil Peep: (shrugging) Then you mess it up. Who cares? You’ll learn. And honestly, women respect a dude who’s not afraid to look dumb sometimes. It’s human.
Jack: (leans back, looking at the skyline) Okay, but what if she’s, like, way out of my league?
Lil Peep: (snorts, shaking his head) Bro, “leagues” are a myth. Everyone’s just a mess of insecurities pretending to have it together. If you treat her like she’s out of reach, she’ll feel it. Treat her like an equal—someone you’re genuinely curious about. That’s what pulls people in.
Jack: (nodding slowly, thinking) So… be confident, be real, and don’t overthink it?
Lil Peep: Exactly. And, y’know, maybe buy her a drink or two. But no Jäger unless you’re trying to end the night in chaos.
Jack: (laughs, holding up the bottle) Well, we’ve already crossed that line.
Lil Peep: (grinning, clinking his cigarette against the bottle) Cheers to chaos, then. But for real, Jack—don’t overcomplicate it. Just be yourself. You’ve got that deep, artsy thing going on. Half the work’s already done.
Jack: (grinning now, feeling a little buzzed and a lot bolder) Alright, alright. Next time I’m out, I’ll give it a shot.
Lil Peep: (leaning back, satisfied) Good. And if it doesn’t work out? Just remember, bro—there’s always more Jäger.
(The two laugh, passing the bottle back and forth as the night stretches on, the city buzzing around them. Jack feels lighter, like maybe—just maybe—he’s starting to figure things out.)
Live Forever