Still finding goldfish.

It’s me and you, sitting on top of my car, legs dangling through the sunroof.

You’ll ask me if we’re going to dent the roof.
I’ll say no.
I’ll find out later I was wrong, but really, you can barely tell.

We’re tossing goldfish crackers in the air and trying to catch them on our tongues. A pink and orange glow bathes your face as you lean forward for a catch. The sun is quickly dropping behind the blue ridge. Our laughter muffles the already faint sound of live music playing from a stage nearly a mile away. We’ve walked back to our campsite from a show we don’t really care to see, because the company we’re keeping is immeasurably better than a band we’ve already seen play an early set.

Every campsite around us seems empty. If anyone is nearby, they must be napping.

In this moment our lives go on forever, and we’re somehow younger than our birth certificates would actually show.

We’re just two kids on a car, and months from now I’ll still be finding old goldfish between my car seats.

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