dear you
so you ride the escalade. you stroll down the pathway with utter disregard to who you bump into, who you step onto. you play your own games, make your own rules. you have your own time to spend. you have your world to yourself. yes. you are a bonafide dying breed. so you think. you are no different from others whom you regard as scums or beggars. uh-huh, you are no different. so face the music. before the music faces you and makes you dance not on your own rhythm, not on your own count. and you will regret the day you knew what you think you knew.
you are no different.
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