He pulled over at the edge of the cliffs where the asphalt met the sand. The sky was an impossible gradient of bruised purple, burnt orange, and soft gold. For three minutes and forty-two seconds, the anxieties of his deadlines and the weight of his "to-do" lists vanished.
The city was a blur of neon and noise, but Elias had the windows down, letting the humid evening air cut through the static of his day. On the passenger seat sat a worn-out demo CD with a Sharpie-scrawled title: He hit play. Beautiful Sunsets (feat. Fly like $ensei)
The track opened with a lo-fi, melodic synth that felt like a warm breeze. Then came the bass—a slow, rhythmic pulse that matched the heartbeat of the coast. Just as the sun began to dip behind the skyline, verse kicked in. The flow was effortless, weaving through the melody like a bird catching a thermal. It wasn't just music; it was a soundtrack for the transition between who Elias was at work and who he was when the world went quiet. He pulled over at the edge of the
He restarted the track, shifted into gear, and drove back toward the city, carrying a bit of that golden glow with him. The city was a blur of neon and
The song faded out with the sound of distant waves and a final, lingering piano chord. Elias sat in the silence that followed, watching the last sliver of light disappear. He realized that while you can’t catch the sun, you can always find a way to vibe with the descent.