Illustrations by Emma Mc Morrow

Thirty thousand feet in the air, Chance the Rapper looks down at Los Angeles in anticipation.

"They look like ants!" he squeals to the matronly woman sitting next to him. He ignores that she's asleep. It's been a long trip from O'Hare and Chance tampered with the smoke detector almost immediately after they took off in order to fashion a spliff and fully relax. He's about to move in with British vocalist and producer, James Blake and can hardly contain his excitement.

"Alright folks," the tinny voice of the pilot transmits overhead, "We're preparing to land in beautiful Los Angeles where the current time is 8:47 p.m."

"WE LANDING! Luh-lan-ding Luh-lan-ding Luh-lan-ding Luh-lan-ding Luh-lan-ding!" Chance babbles rhythmically as squirms in his seat and inadvertently knocking off his LRDS hat, which was covering a smaller version of the same hat.

After the plane deboards, Chance makes a collect call home to assure them he landed safely. They have no recollection of him leaving the house and this is the first they've heard of James Blake. (His mother asks, "You mean like 'You're Beautiful'? That guy?")

As Chance enters baggage claim he sees a slender and translucent man holding a sign bearing the name "Chancellor".

"Yo Jimmy, is that you?!" Chance squints from across the cavernous room.

The man is nonplussed and then disheartened. "I'm here to pick you up," he mutters towards the ground, "My name's Airhead."

"Like the candy?!"

Airhead sighs quietly, recording himself doing so for his next record, and then directs Chance to his Nissan Cube.

The two drive for several hours in some direction before coming up to a structure jutting out of the Hollywood Hills and extremely reminiscent of the Fortress of Solitude. They enter the building, which is filled with nothing but darkness before a disembodied Aaliyah sample whizzes by in every direction. Airhead inexplicably weeps.

After five minutes of computerized chirping and buzzing, the floor opens and a giant, egg-shaped dome rises from a sudden fog. The dome slides apart to reveal James, grinning and smoky.

"Hello Chance," he says into a vocoder, physically knocking Chance over who cannot stop laughing.

"Chaaaaaaance, hello," he repeats letting thirty seconds of silence impede between repeating himself again.

Chance waits before adding, "Nuh neh neh nuh neh neh Nuh neh neh Nuh neh neh Nuh neh neh!" into the empty space.

After ten minutes, James holds his hand up. "That's it," he says happily, "Our first demo."

"Jimmy!" Chance is beside himself, "Oh my god! Is there anything else?"

"Oh, yes," says James before holding three different synth chords and humming into the vocoder, "Chaaance we could use sssssssssssssome milk" before putting it on repeat and leaving the room.

Airhead looks at "los angeles >housing >apts/housing for rent" on Craigslist.

What do you think will happen next? Where will they end up? Answers soon.