I run wild with your memories. Take my hand and go with me.
I own a car now that is the same color as your grandfather's old Chevy truck, the one that moves slow even when you are speeding and where all the seats are lined with religious cassette tapes... you remember it, don't you?
And I was never one for getting high, opting for alcohol over other less-legalized addictions, but I would have never stopped you two.
We had breakfast at that place, the one with the putt-putt course, eggs and bacon and sweet syrup everywhere. Someone mentioned it was my birthday and we got free pie, with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. And I don't know if I've ever eaten pie at ten in the morning again.
I know that waitress placed her hand on my back and she looked like every athletic girl I've ever known - strong thighs underneath small shorts, cocksure grin - and both of you gave me knowing smiles. And I knew what you were thinking, 'coz I was thinking it, too.
Hazy smoke trailing us down the highway, the border of that state all three of us despise looming ahead. But we'd do anything for a black button-down and a wicker-like hat, even if it meant entering a land that doesn't like their 'gays' to be too open and with white-washed crosses dotting the hillsides, Jesus in every pair of shady eyes.
Where did we find that booth? Was it the mall? Did we even go there? And you two were so stoned. I think she could barely stay awake and the same could be said for you.
And my hands were on the wheel, pulling that truck down backroads, driving faster than your foggy minds could wrap around.
You still say I was flying.
I still say I was creeping on by.
And I don't remember how that day really ended or began. But it was beautiful.
'coz if this is life... then who'd argue?