We get in the car, we turn the stereo way up, we head for the highway. I forgot how much I loved this: the 7-11 isn't where we thought it was. No matter -- we'll find that other one. Four suburbs later, it's midnight and we're drinking slurpees in the parking lot. It's raining and nobody gives a fuck; we are the only ones we have.

And we laugh about getting all messed up and stupid, and the windows are rolled down and it's raining on me and I'm singing at the top of my lungs, and there's nobody else on the highway, and, and. I often wonder about people driving around at night, where they're headed and whether they're happy, and I guess you can never really find that stuff out.

Soon, this: summer, camping trips to three-day music festivals, flying back home for five days, working two and a half jobs, listening to walking concert and eating ice cream by the pool.

Oh, it's all ending quickly

and that makes me unbelievably sad

but this is only the beginning.