Curlers, ties, and Motown

It ended face down on stained sheets, as it sometimes does. But before that there was a stage, a bar, a rain of Motown hits. And on the curb across the street, five undergrads tugged on cigarettes.

Everyone kept asking what my major was. The story was this: I was not in school, not employed, did not live there, nor anywhere else, really had no plans. The conversation turned to other points.

And so I found my friends, who asked no questions, just slurred their words and didn’t mind response. Out the cab window, all I could muster up was: Remember when we were those kids?