These West Coast hustlers feel quite at home in this smoky ambiance of a low-riding beater car
We’re moving to the beat of a catchy sultry smooth indie pop ballad – not the grimy hip hop you might expect from skaters and stoners of the Tofitian variety.
I guess they’re not ashamed of their heats of gold.
“Change the song” says one, and we’re off to the next connection point.
They always do their stops. And I’m fully in this.
It allows them to stay one step ahead, and strut by the cops, heads held high.
Ironically they’re discussing the possibility of finding the one. You know, mushy shit like that. But they mean it. They say they won’t leave me behind at the end of the day.
Yet they still do. And I fully call them on it. Because someone needs to.
Back in the rainforest alone.
Working on beats in my tent, I’m inspired to sample my own whistle.