We’re halfway down Neck Road and driving through a blur of dim lit streets, there’s moments to speculate when you’re shoving what-should-be-done’s aside and screaming I-don’t-care-anymore. Moments to wonder if it’s okay to substitute responsibilities with a few nights to spare in the company of others.
"I’ll only let you charge your phone if you play your music."
"In this volume?" almost screaming to the top of my lungs with the windows rolled down.
"Yes. That’s the rules."
"That’s not fair. I have sappy songs."
"Let’s hear it then."
There’s something terribly nerve wrecking with a playlist played out in the open. It’s almost like the most private part of yourself you try to keep on the down low, considering your choice of music says a lot about your character from what you choose to listen to on the daily. I plug in my phone, and Sam Smith blasts through the speakers.
You’re the one designed for me
A distant stranger that I will complete
I know you’re out there we’re meant to be
So keep your head down and make it to me
An endless drive through the night, the songs playing like an old record recollecting the past and replaying what-used-to-be’s. My heart reverberating through a hundred miles per hour with the volume on max and there’s a guy in front of us screaming to the top of his lungs how much he’d die for a lover he never met. It’s quite funny, really. Singing along to the lyrics of a broken song when all of us in the car happen to be somewhat broken ourselves. We stop and park at the local Diner still standing since the 70’s, ordering burgers and spaghettis to our hearts content hoping the next song to play would be less relatable than the last, can we get some fries with that? It’s a shame how easy it is to forget those little things. Like “how are you?” with the actual intent of wanting to know exactly how you are than just the formalities.
"So, How are you?"