Life at the Continental

Well, smished in history. Shining like they're made for kings. Trendy shops,

yoga mats, perfect little things. But I slide down the sidewalk, like I'm out

of place. In my boots, my flannel, my week-old shave. I ain't here

for boutique cold brews or rooftop wine. I'm headed where the broken clocks

forget the time, yeah. Push the door open,

old jukebox hum. The Continental, West Hampton, my kingdom come.

Everybody knows like we've known each other since birth. Just Richmond soul hiding from the

weight of the earth. The stool ain't fancy, but it fits