That's the dude right there.
He rolls out of the
warm embrace of the Gas Mart
smack dab
into winter's first cold stinging slap.
He battles -- and defeats --
a wind that tries
to wrap a glass door
around his 47-year-old frame.
He pop-a-wheelies his way
down off the curb
and onto the icy pavement,
gliding past the Pontiac Grand Prix,
headed straight to paradise.
No jacket, no hat,
no movement in his legs.
What's he need all that for?
He's got his wheels.
He's got his Swisher Sweets.
He owns the road.
I told you. That's the dude.
