Times Changes

I love listening to music in the car. I remember a few years ago, I had a big fight with one of my best friends. She'd done crystal meth the night before and was sobbing on the phone about some guy. I was less than sympathetic and she hung up on me. It was summer, and I ran out to my car barefoot and just started driving with the knob turned all the way up. I stopped at some suburban gas station and bought a pack of smokes. I lit them on the car lighter and smoked about five and just kept heading east. Eventually I cooled off, the night cooled off and I turned around and headed back into town. Life back then was so... dramatic.

I was driving yesterday and listening to the classic rock station, a change from my usual CBC Radio 2. (Radio in this town is severely limited) The deep-voiced DJ, the one who make lame jokes about sports trivia and beer, was doing his usual schtick. The obligatory female traffic person was laughing at some sexist crack. Then cut to music - Layla came on; that song must have one of the best intros of all time. I turned up the dial and started singing along loudly and tapping the wheel. Then I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Little Man, via his Fisher Price mirror, staring into space with a rather bewildered look on his face. And I realised it's harder to sing Layla with a straight face when you realise that you're driving the Jetta across the bridge so you can shop for Christmas-themed baby clothes at Old Navy.