March 2017

March 2017 was heavy motion.

Not loud… just relentless.

This was the month where the subway started feeling less like a place I went… and more like a place I belonged. The cart rolled out like clockwork, the platforms became familiar, and the hustle started developing that thing you can’t fake: rhythm. The kind of rhythm you build when you’re out there so often the city begins to recognize you back.

I wasn’t chasing a moment. I was building a system.

Set up. Sell. Sketch. Reset. Repeat.

Day after day, the grind wasn’t draining me, it was sharpening me.

March carried that raw New York contrast: beauty and grime in the same frame. Tourists brushing shoulders with locals. Late trains. Loud characters. Quiet blessings. The kind of month where you collect proof. Proof that this wasn’t a hobby. Proof that the work traveled. Proof that people wanted to wear a piece of the city… drawn by someone who actually lived it.

This was the month before April’s musical rainstorm.

Before the city started shining in the story.

March was the underground building pressure.

The tunnel building momentum.

The hustle getting faster… without ever losing its balance.