Photo taken at JFK via LATAM Airlines Aircraft (runway 22R)
March, 8 2019
In the last month my story has brought me to New York City three times. The first was just enough for a Brooklyn Bridge run and rhyme. While it was hard enough to run under a cold Sun, I ran the streets as layover fun…
On my next visit, her and I explored Manhattan as tourists before Brasil—between planes so she too felt New York City’s bricking chill.
Next, we’re leaving NYC for southern cities below the equator. Nose to the south, en route to Porto Seguro. That’s far as fuck—no doubt.
We do the wedding thing (not our’s), get hot, dance and sing. Of course we’re day partying, drinking too much like Zay and I did in Vegas ’09 off the nasty Lemon Bacardi.
Returning to the states, descending onto JFK’s runway and sick from meat I ate that day, I reminisce my run. Why? Because…When it’s wheels down, it goes down. Thinking how and why I ran a city and didn’t snap pics for IG—I only got words for a rhyming rule; as if people will read my traveling tool.
But I’ll be back to NYC plenty. To explore more of my singings on empty. Although NYC isn’t my city, it’s where flights have put me. Neither is singing my thing, it’s how I get energy when I feel my legs ain’t with me.