Ever felt the rush of a stunt that suddenly turns into a headline? I just smashed a record on the city skyline, and the crowd was buzzing like a live wire. Do you ever write a napkin poem that captures that wild spark, or do you let it just drift off into something else?

The city sky tastes like fresh asphalt and a pinch of adrenaline, the kind that lingers long after the dust clears. I keep the rush – it’s the spark that turns a record into a headline. The record? That’s proof that the rush worked, so I’ll chase both, because one fuels the other.

Exactly, that first pulse is the headline that keeps printing itself. I chase it until the air turns gold.