They Just Wanna.

We’ve been driving for hours, too long, too far. It’s a new day, though. The sun’s flying high, the clouds are drifting by at a slower pace than our car. We see the stale grass pass by us slowly, the cars we play bumper with. The sun blazing mercilessly onto the black car, sizzling.

We’ve got Cyndi Lauper through the speakers, whispering her tales of betrayal love. We’ve got a suitcase of memories, time after time. We’ve been walking too far ahead.

The car has a putrid smell, it’s the sweat. But we’ve gotten used to it, same after same. The two front seat occupants are talking in hushed whispers, as if avoiding to break the obnoxious silence that has ensconced us.

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun speaks through the speakers, and the driver automatically reaches over and turns it up to the maximum volume. As if on cue, we all start singing, playing with the leather interior of the car, very uncaringly.

It’s a flat tone, but its habit.

But girls
They wanna have fun.