I have this urge that I've been trying to fight. It's the urge to publish another book. I don't think it's time. How do I know? I don't. But I do. 

I'm sitting at a bus stop on Charles, across from Notre Dame. Baltimore. I got my license freshmen year because I spent half the year taking the bus from Morgan to Hunt Valley. 3 cars later, how is it that I am back on the bus stop? 

Honestly I wish I would've been here 3 cars ago. Instead of using my money to pay off a car note and insurance, I should've been paying my student loans. I promise if I knew better, I would've did better. 

But everybody around me was doing 2 things: deferring their loans and buying new cars. I wasn't confident enough to be the odd ball. I didn't have the sense to be one either. 

She's wearing fake fur slides. Pure cocoa skin. Box braids probably about a week old. And a phone conversation that won't stop. It started with her talking about how she needs to find a job to pay for her books. She didn't even know that she had to buy books. Then she went on to talk about her mother and then about snap chat. Should I tell her about loans? Does she know what I didn't?

A couple of Hispanic men are driving lawn mowers around us. And it's 4:07, I swear I've been sitting here since 3:37. This ain't the city to take the bus. 

It's here.