Jegs on.

Jegs on.

Jegs.

Bout to run six miles.

On my favorite treddy bear.

But first need to work up a sick tweet.

Something that encapsulates my one-of-a-kind grind.

My love of stylin’ on garden variety seasoning plants.

“Swerving on Bond in my blazed out midnight o’clock NBs.”

“Keep the fuck out my way plebes. #makemymonstergrow”

“Hit Lord Zedd on the BBM tip.”

Headphones on.

Playlist on blast.

I fucks wit Frou Frou.

Maybe you’ve read about her?

On Nah Right?

Flossin’ like twelveteen types of Pitti wealth from the waist up.

Flossin’ like the number one AEPhi pledge from the waist down.

Shit.

Can I get any realer?

Sartorio at Swisha House.

Boglioli at Ballys.

E. Tauz at Equinox.

Norton & Sons at New York Sports Club.

Caruso at Curves.

Just wait ‘til I add spinning.

To the rotation.

After hours Spreewells.

No Rapha.

If only you knew.

What kind of wavy shit I’ve got over shoulder.

Kindle.

E Ink back.

You know your boy gets his light read on.

Fat stack of hundies.

Fresh roll of undies.

Granola for my lil’ tummy.

Finna pull some fit honies.

Crazy stamina.

I smell when I’m done, B.

Getting to sleep early.

Tomorrow at the cancer marathon.

Stuntin’ on behalf of the bedridden.

Both sides of the street.

Throngs, son.

Throngs.

Don’t know why they cap this shit at 5K.

Balling on a budget was never my thing.

I could have dropped 10K on my jacket alone.