It didn’t matter what the song was. It didn’t matter if it was any good. What mattered was that it had a beat, and the beat matched our hearts. That the road was clear, and the night was dark.
That the light blinked on the canvas of the sky, and every turn meant more danger and speed. That the meter rose fast and kept moving higher.
The movements, the dance in tight space, and the widening of pupils against the store lights and the overhanging bridges. The beautiful girl and the beautiful boy in front, and their heads bobbing to the beat.
The neediness of words gave way to euphoria. To a peaceful high. To an intoxication of the rhythm of a world rushing by.
To a dream only had once a life. To a bleeding skyline, and a scenery rush, as the grass stayed a blur and by God it felt like flying. By God for the first time they felt alive.
And I, and we, and they, were drunk on youth in our smallest of infinites.
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