I knew what I stood for, even if nobody else did. The sun made me feel like a restless country girl even though I'd never been on a farm. How she just wanted to play around with this girl and that girl and this girl and I smoked my cigarette and went Uh-Huh. How her heart was shut off and it felt pretty good. On the rusting Chevy, Joey told me about her date the other night with a girl she used to like who she maybe liked again. Before she even joined the band, I would think of her each time I passed the car, the little round medallions with the red and black racing flags affixed to the dash. We climbed up onto it and sat our butts backward on the edge of the windshield, feet stretched into the front seat. Back in the sun we walked to the edge of the parking lot where a black Impala convertible sat, rusted and rotting, looking like it just got dredged from a swamp. With The Straight Girl? I asked in the blankest voice possible. I feel like something big is happening, but I don't know what to do about it. She started talking to me about Wonder Woman. Let's go smoke, she said, and I grabbed the cigarettes off the amp. A shirtless boy came in and told us he had to cut the power for a minute, and I thought about being along in the cool black room with Joey. I tossed my fluffy coat into the hollow of my bass drum and lay on the carpet with my worn newspaper. “We entered the cool cave of the practice space with all the long-haired, goateed boys stoned on clouds of pot and playing with power tools.
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