give me a city to roam, and a hand to hold.
Beers, indie rock songs, cheap motels and rebellious decisions inside the back of a dark green Volkswagen: You have lived years of your life with high spirits and tears and broken memories. With the agony...
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surprise, surprise look who it is (caution: i probably wont proofread this so please don't point out my grammatical errors because i won't care <3)
The summer breeze blew from the open windows of Jackson's car and through our hairs, making them fly wildly in the hair. The tunes of this artist called Keshi played on the car radio as the sun set, leaving the sky alone to the darkness of the night and light of the stars. The ride back to the motel was quick and quiet, my chest filling up with panic and curiosity. I was often curious to see how mad Jackson would've gotten, but then again, it's not exactly the prettiest sight.
I kind of had fun today; we went for a drive, taught Lauren how to drive, and we shared a kiss. Maybe we didn't do much today to make it seem as fun as I experienced, but it was a special day to me. I still had yet to ask her what we were and how this would've worked out, but at the time I believed that it was best to just see what happens. Where ever the world puts us, anyway.
I thought about what Jackson might be doing at the moment, but soon enough, I realized there's only three things he could be possibly doing: 1) sleeping, which would really help with getting us out of his wrath, 2) eating, with a burning passion of eliminating my being, or 3) waiting outside of the motel room, glaring down at the parking the parking lot from the balcony. I couldn't blame him though. He left his most prized possession in my hands and I didn't do what I said I would do. But, it's whatever. Whatever happens, happens.
During the rest of the car ride, Lauren and I had the time to share some things about ourselves. She told me that she loves singing with all her heart and that it was actually a great way to keep her mind off of some things, but she refused and giggled a bit when I asked her if she could demonstrate. I told her about some of my other hobbies other than being an athlete. I told her about how much I loved painting, although I was awfully poor at it. I just loved the feeling of stroking the bristles of the brush against a soft white canvas. She also, according to her, found my passion and love for the Harry Potter series cute, actually, saying that it's adorable to be a dorky fan about something like a book series or some movies.
By the time we arrived, the stars met the sky and the only things that glowed were the moon and the large sign in front of the building, it's colors of pink and red glowed along the words of 'Matt's Motel' in the darkness.
The motel was one of those seedy places men with beer guts went to bang other men's wives with promises they couldn't afford to keep. Or else the hooker's brought their john's there and paid for rooms by the hour. Weeds grew through the cracks in the concrete path and the litter from cheap take-out meals were strewn across it. There were external wooden stairs that lead to a second floor, a second row of doors, that looked like the building inspector was either bribed to pass it or drunk on the job. Except, that at the moment, it was just empty, fortunately. But, it still wasn't exactly the best place for a couple of stupid teenagers like us to be in.
