One-eighty on the 401—Nah.*tape rewind*Hundred on the 401, jaw locked, palms wetKey cloned by my thigh, eyes stuck on the dash setPlate read clean, cruiser drifted byHeld my breath till the blue fell out the glassFirst run, a hundred, every lane felt thinEvery car beside me looked like it knew what I didOne-ten on the dash, shoulders finally dropOne-twenty on the digital, bassline upOne-thirty, one hand, cutting through the spaceOne-forty, cold blood, ain't no fear on my faceFirst run was a terror, fifth run was a scoreKey lit the dash like it knew my nameEasy little entrance, leveling the gameNo flash, no stop, no cruiser made the turnCalled it proof, not luck, that I hadn't burnedTick—new fob.Tock—new risk.Tick—ignition.Tock—one click.Tick—no stop.Tock—still free.Thought I had the wheel, but the clock had me.RUNNING HOT—TICK-TOCK (HOT)New car, good plate, racing with the clockHundred, one-ten, twenty, thirty on the dashEvery clean pass, just a blur and a flashRUNNING HOT—TICK-TOCK (HOT)One-forty, chest out, speakers knock"Not this time"—so I ran one moreEvery stolen push adding years at the doorThen the boys came back with a stick in the middleNobody could drive it, whole plan got brittleAsked if I could clutch it—I said, "Yeah, of course"Never had—my whole rep riding on a false forceDash woke easy but the whip stayed stillGreen light hit, heard the engine go illStalled once—horns stacking up behindStalled twice—red light, losing my mindWhole crew quiet, every silence felt loudNerve gone in the middle of the crowdCalled my brother, who else could I dial?"Don't laugh. I'm stuck at the light. I can't move."Voice on the speaker: "Breathe. Find the bite.Let the clutch catch. Keep it calm. Don't fight."Green light, leg shake, finally it caughtRolled through slow like it's exactly what I soughtOne block, two block, fear left the seatBy the third clean turn, I called his help my skillRUNNING HOT—TICK-TOCK (HOT)Back to a hundred, stomach tied in a knotHundred, one-ten, twenty creeping up slowlyEvery little save made the next one easyRUNNING HOT—TICK-TOCK (HOT)New car, good plate, no blue lights stopping"Not this time"—so I ran one moreEvery stolen push adding years at the doorThe key made the first hard second disappear.But the clock don't stop just 'cause you lose the fear.Tick—for the engine.Tock—for the plate.Tick—for the money.Tock—for the fate.No siren sounded like permission.Next car automatic, hundred felt cleanOne-ten, no sweat, scanning the sceneOne-twenty, bass up, thirty on the switchOne-forty came easy, scratch another itchTick-tock, new dash, tick-tock, clean scanTick-tock, less fear, tick-tock, bigger manOne-fifty, cruiser passed, kept rolling alongTook the blind eye as proof I wasn't wrongEvery pass shaved panic from the spaceEvery stolen car built myth in its place"Not this time" repeating in my headLike the clock only ticks if the sirens go redKey by the thigh and no shake in the gripOne-sixty steady, let the confidence driftNo chase, no cuffs, no lesson, no signJust another clean run adding up to serving timeTick—new fob.Tock—new risk.Tick—ignition.Tock—one click.Tick—no stop.Tock—still free.Thought I had the wheel—panic had the key.RUNNING HOT—TICK-TOCK (HOT)ONE-FORTY, ONE-FIFTY, SIXTY ON THE CLOCKGood plate, clean lane, bassline dirtyCruising like the road never planned to hurt meRUNNING HOT—TICK-TOCK (HOT)Every new car, new risk, same thought"Not this time"—so I ran one moreEVERY STOLEN PUSH ADDING YEARS AT THE DOOROne-sixty on the 401.No shake in my hands.Key cloned and warm by my thigh.Good plate.No stop.Not this time.Tick.Tock.Cruising toward one-eighty on the 401.
