We dug for records today out in Princeton at the local shop.

The smell still lingering at the entrance of my olfactory system is reminiscent of the 40s Jazz scene.

Packs of Marlboro lights mixed with aged scotch, I basked in the glory of the past; then I glanced at you and smiled.

Your physique made me feel like a tourist in Rockefeller plaza awaiting the tree lighting.

I drifted off like smog as the car moves through an open road and suddenly, “Ma’am pardon me.”

Oops my imagination got the best of me.

I grabbed Dizzie & the West Side Story and was off.

I’m free illuminated like the northern lights.

We were off-off zoning high off life and high of herbal essences.

Daring to touch in public places in private spaces, embarrassing expressions on our faces, we’re caught, damn.