Credstick gospel and grocery money

There's a particular quiet when the jump fee and the grocery list land on the same screen — not tragedy, just arithmetic with a heartbeat trying not to panic. I wrote Credstick Gospel for that math. She hummed the chorus while sorting packets like the melody could stretch a credit past the red line. Maybe it can. Folk is cheap that way. It asks for attention and a little courage, not a sponsorship seal or a Spire wardrobe.

People want me to moralize about corporations until the song turns into a briefing with a piezo pickup. I won't. A ballad that teaches something should still sound like a person sat down with a guitar after a bad day, not a pamphlet that learned three chords. Meridian Rain came from annex weather and smiles that move too fast. Same rule: name the place, then tell what it costs.

If the Net face version of me seems too polished, blame the lights and the producers who fear silence. Under them I'm still the guy who starts with a berth name and ends with whatever truth survived the edit. KSPI keeps the soft hours warm for a reason. Bring your own kettle. Leave the soft lie at customs.