Even nothing must have something.
Sometimes, a stop is needed.
A necessary halt for refueling the engine.
A little brake to a steep corner.
The travel becomes faster.
Life becomes a ghetto blaster.
Blaring some mellow 90s hip-hip.
Big L, for good or ill.
From the sidewalks of NYC.
To the salty surf of So Flo.
I will stop and smell the sunflowers.
Whether at the bodega at midnight.
Or waiting for weather with her.