while driving in Louisiana.
now wouldn't that be poetic.
light years away from life.
I kill a young me.
morning drives.
in new places.
make me nostalgia.
full of what-if's.
I wonder what life would've turned into.
had you taken that apartment pm 97th and Park.
the one that my friend Kayle lived in.
with the Basquiat painting.
I wonder if we would've saw each other more.
and maybe...
my daydreams turn to fear.
when I take an illegal left.
and almost run over a long-hair skate kid.
he was crossing the street.
and gave me the finger.