When I grow up, they’ll call me the Funktastic Funkmeister. When I walk, people will sway to my groove. When I talk, horns will accompany me. I’ll speak in rhythm; I’ll speak in rhyme. People will hear me coming. The bwap bwap bwap of a bass guitar echoing down brick alleyways, dissipating into the sky like steam from subway tunnels.
When I grow up, I’ll feel the world wash over me: the air, the trees, the sound of the city. The weight of coffee and pancakes as it drifts past my fingers. When I hear women talk, I’ll feel it in my cheeks. I’ll hear streetlights. I’ll smell the stars.
When I grow up, I’m gonna be Stevie Wonder.
And I’ll believe in things that I do understand, like you and me and how we get it together.