A Free-Write With That Beater Car Picture in Mind

Can't you just hear the music? Rock-n-roll, of course. The kind of song that everyone knows the words, ha ha, sometimes there's one individual in the crowd that thinks the words are something completely wrong, he's been singing the wrong words for eons, something totally ridiculous and you have to stop with the sun's warm kiss and scented breeze on your back and ask, "Did you just say 'bringing in the yeast?' You did! HAHAHAHA. Did you think this was a song about an infection? You're killing me!"

Then, everyone smiling so hard it hurts, so fucking into the intense beauty of the moment and being alive and how cool it can be, there is a brief silence. We're together with these painful smiles.

One chick in the back seat, that chick whose hair is always so perfectly messy and sexy at the same time, you know her, she begins to talk about the drugs and trips she used to have. Nothing is more clear, more sharp-edged clear, as when you're on acid. Remember?

Another is taking off shoes and sticking their feet out of the window. I'm Free! It just doesn't get any better than this. Anybody else hungry? Oh, that cat with the huge backpack brought sandwiches, "Pull over man, let's eat."

One in the group trots to the top of the rocky hill, the rest laugh and try to follow. It becomes a race, it becomes King Of The Hill. The King has mayonaise on his triumphant chin but no one tells him... It's too nice a day. Rock on.