The unstrung joy I feel hearing you start high school with Gasolina: let’s start there. I had to race home to tell you. 

Like the unspooling sunflower that reached up up up in the city heat for months, edging blossom, defying wind gravity impatience, the heat and sweat and ass implicit in Daddy Yankee came forth as a burst of yellow light. All traffic and sun and street and welding and heat and headlight and glow and slow down and love bright and wind up and grow grow grow.