Sitting in the backseat. Sliding around on the leather. Trying to burn a hole in the back of your head with my eyeball, or read your mind, or make you turn around and look me in the eye through the head rest and the seat and smile. I know your driving, I know you need to keep your eye on the road. I'll stop. I'm listening half to the people up front talking, half to my head, half to the lights swirling by. i feel only half here, half in a memory already. A memory i like to get into. The night always does this to me. The only thing missing is a soundtrack with hand claps. I'm aware of how young i feel, but old enough with a sprinkle of hindsight to recognize a good time when it's driving me around town, windows down. It's so warm in January. Warm enough for us to disappear around back and look up at the sky, trying and trying not to rub shoulders. Trying and trying not to care. Trying not to think about how a Volkswagon commercial has stolen our good time and is making you think of sliding around a leather backseat and of being in love and of being old enough to appreciate a good time, and your old enough to afford it. because you finally realized that we're all going to die. So take that good time and squeeze all the meaning out of it until it's no longer recognizable as reality. And then go out and buy that car.