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I don’t really like driving. I’d rather ride. In the summer with the windows rolled down and gusts of warm air rolling in, smelling like dirt, but not in an unpleasant way, or bundled up tight in the winter with the heat up high enough to make it cozy and drowsy inside – either is fine by me. I do prefer the nighttime though.
There is a desire, perhaps even a need, to get rid of all evidence that we were ever stupid enough to indulge the kind of emotions that would leave us bitter and depressed. We may have played the fool once, but never again. Our precious space will be taken up with photos of summer camp and summer flings that ended too soon.