Summer of 91

Roar of a GM engine, and gust of speeding metal on interstate road, some times I wonder, limitless is the sky, heavy the chains that try and hold me down, but I am young, strong, and heroic. The hero never falls, he only picks himself up and rams his fist into the wind, only God can calm his fury, but his hunger knows no bounds. I am he. Don’t think too much, just drive on through, miles the summer heat, but by my side my woman lays. The scent of feminine perfume and sweet thighs I have climbed. This is the summer of 91. My car, my girl, the road. My last ride before the storm. The final words to be said before the dawn of manhood and all that lays upon that journey.

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