Shh, I'm having a moment.

Driving home with my windows down, Poets of the Fall's Late Goodbye pumping out into the city.

Memories of Junior year, crippling depression, anger, frustration, academic probation, and amidst all of this, hope.
Before that, Late Goodbye was the anthem of driving around Eastern Europe. A late night in Hungary singing along with Mitch. Good times.

I'm not sure why it decided to pop into my head tonight. I remembered one night I drove home from Marin in my thrifted Nine West leather jacket angry about something, but what wasn't I angry about? I pulled a Lucky Strike out of the pack bought in Austria and tugged the cigarette lighter out of my car as I sped down the Richmond Parkway. I fumbled it and dropped it. I watched the glowing red coils in the tube tumble down my battered jacket. Fearing a flaming end I picked it up quickly and sucked a drag off of the cigarette hard enough to make canyons in my cheeks. Even though it was a cold night I opened all of my windows and my roof.

And we keep driving into the night,
It's a late goodbye, such a late goodbye...

Oh, the moment. It's worthless trying to explain it to someone who wasn't there, who wasn't feeling it. It was just... perfect. I was Max Payne, but replace the hardboiled detective with a 17 year old with shocking pink hair.

By the time I got home my car had aired out and I felt better.