Bubbles.

"Do y’all have any bubbles laying around?" I asked my boyfriend's parents as I returned to their Yonkers house, my morning run more of a mental workout on career intricacies than a physical feat.

The night prior, inside the Subaru we drove across the country, I propped up my phone to capture myself lip-syncing to the chorus of "Don’t Die In Me". There I sat, staring into the camera from the driver's seat, no seatbelt fastened because, of course, I wasn’t going anywhere. But that’s just the artist's playbook these days. Market your song from the comfort of a car. It's meant to resonate, to feel familiar. It's what the label would prescribe. So, I recorded, spent 20 minutes syncing the lyrics, then shared the snippet.

Bubbles.

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