The Industrial poetry of Meserole Street is smudged when I sprint past by the warehouse where the guys from Navegante rehearse every day. “It’s all in your head”, Jean Shepherd, yells in my headphones. It feels like there is a fourth dimension to their music. Short breath, my feet are in monotone frequency touching and untouching the ground. Inhale, exhale, wet hair underneath my hood, I am driven by the energy and restlessness of We ridin’.