I come home from work. I put on my favourite playlist, my favourite clothes. I think this is the way you're supposed to live your life. I pretend I'm elsewhere but everything stays the same. I don't know if minutes mean anything but many pass me by. I let the beat play over the thoughts in my mind because I don't want to think them. Instead I think about hustling breakfast plates. It is engrained in my fibre to work, I was raised this way. I don't know what I'd do without it.
I used to be friends with people who didn’t have jobs. I used to not have a job. I hated it. Something about memorization, rhythm, money. Something about having somewhere to go. It gives me purpose.
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