"Baby, you can drive my car" drabble

Senior year of high school, we drove. Anywhere, everywhere, whenever we could. We were new at it, a bit reckless with the imagined immortality of youth, but it didn’t matter. We were finally free.

Free to cruise to the next town during lunch, go to the movies out on the highway. Free to glide along the deserted streets late at night, our cigarettes lit and the radio blaring, talking. Of boys, school, boys, jobs, boys, the future. It was as indistinct and twisting as those shadowy roads, but that didn’t matter either. We would get there, and we would drive.