Her in Fast times at where ever

I was driving home a few days ago and the song “At Last - Etta James” came on my radio. Time slowed, I went into a daze, barely conscience of the world around me, I was on autopilot. My mind was two years in the past and she was there.

She had raven black hair, and feral eyes. She had a taste for class and cocaine, it scared me but naturally I was attracted to it, kind of like a moth to the flames. She was Paris, Tijuana, and Moscow all wrapped into one, she was the red light district, she was the alley you shouldn’t walk down alone. She was the hungry soul in need of life. Her voice was filled with an intense longing for adventure anywhere she could find it. The world couldn’t offer her enough. She was the most dangerous thing I had ever encountered, and I wanted to be a part of the danger.

She was in and out of my life like a thief in the night, most likely for the best. Now she’s a ghost with the occasional message from wherever she maybe now. I’ve had a reoccurring day dream about her and myself riding around in this 1974 Cadillac Eldorado convertible with the top down, cruising extremely slow, she’s wearing her big ass bug eye looking white trimmed sun glasses with some sort of 60’s style ladies scarf around her head, she looks at me wearing my gold rimmed aviators we smile at one another listening to “At Last” (her favorite song) not giving a fuck about anything.

Three minutes and two seconds later I’m back in my pick up truck letting Al Green pick up the pieces, driving into a late winter rain storm with no particular hopes or dreams.

P.S. This piece is from the “when I was a younger man” Collection.