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Random
Mom: What is that smell? *Pokes around and leaves*
Friend: Dude, that was close.
Son: Yeah, she must have been smelling my pocket.
Flowing naturally in the stream of life in a constant forward motion. Vibrating off of the complimentary frequencies, gliding effortlessly through life. When you're in the pocket everything seems to run smoothly and come easily. There is no need to force things to work out; everything simply falls into place. The pockets acts as a metaphorical lubricant theatre preventing friction therefore protecting against abrasion associated with getting dry fucked by life. The pocket may also be helpful as a form of isolation. a "bullshit barrier" or cloak of impermeablitlty. Basically while "in the pocket" nothing outside of the pocket can harsh your mellow or strue your pockety path.
Only you
She overcame every hurdle successfully and without any problems as if she possessed some kind of natural ability to navigate through life. She is definitely in the pocket.
When someone is in the pocket they are perfectly fucked up. Not over the limit but also not sober, mind at ease, complete comfort, in the pocket.
“Bro, Anthony, that last shotgun put me right in the pocket homeboy.”
When someone is in the pocket they are perfectly fucked up. Not over the limit but also not sober, mind at ease, complete comfort, in the pocket.
“Bro, Anthony, that last shotgun put me right in the pocket homeboy.”
To be carrying large volumes of contraband on ones person
Ye cuz, me and boys got searched by rozzas down endz last week. We was props legs in pockets tho.
When one places an oily sandwich in anothers unworn jacket that is resting on a chair with the hopes that he will unknowingly put it on and walk away without realizing.
"Look at Baby Legs, that dude's got a sando in his pocket"