reckless youth

the last day in february reminds me of riding with the top down in forty degree farenheit weather. there was a significant amount of snow on the ground, and i was buzzing on 6 coronas at noon on a sunday. we made our way through forest-lined roads as the chill was consistently fought off by my mexican army of alcohol. “where will we land?”, i vaguely remember thinking for a moment before george michael’s “faith” came on the radio, leaving no alternative but to sing along without regard for any other thought. i recall the smell of leather and pine rather than the normal grey of winter, probably the most convincing reason to be happy in february. there was also the girl, of course, now no more than a ghost. there’s just something about hair blowing in the wind that turns car rides into poetry.