You put the top up on your 1963 black Lincoln convertible, next week it will be too cold to ride with the top down--I hate how fucking cold it gets here. You park just outside the Hi Dive, Junior Boys is playing tonight but we have some time before they go on so I start drinking out of your flask—Bulleit Bourbon from the night before. We are listening to the mix I made you the first time you left-- New Order “Age of Consent” comes on, and you take my left wrist and kiss it. I remember putting this song on the mix because you used to tease me for being so young.

We crawl into the backseat and I straddle you in your Rogans and Pocketo shirt. You finger me under my Rock and Republic denim skirt and then suck your finger while looking out the window. If only I would have put “In the Backseat” by Arcade Fire on this mix.

Your cell phone rings—your ringtone is "Bigmouth Strikes Again"--- you got it at PocketFuzz last year on Valentines day when your ex-girlfriend started stalking you—the one that still works at American Apparel. It’s getting late so we head into the show. We listen to half the set—his voice is perfect but I feel dizzy so I lead you into the bathroom. I go down on you to the rhythm of the music echoing in from the stage....they are playing “Teach Me How to Fight” as I swallow you over and over again.