Block

I’m sitting in a BMW i8.

It’s black with electric blue around the wheels and the headlights.

The seats are leather and heated, my ass is warm.

I’m sipping a cup of hot-chocolate made with oat milk. Cows milk is for baby cows.

All windows are up, I hate the sounds of those grotty voices nearby.

Does it look like my car needs cleaning?

Only me and I’m stuck.

Is there ever traffic at 0333 hours?

I’m not moving.

Engulfed in thought processes.

Delinquent of 70% responsibilities.

I’m not a passenger.

I’m not a red light.

I’m not another car in a queue.

I’m not even there.