Winter is not

All I could hear was the rushing of air. My hair blowing crazy, the girl in the front seats hair blowing crazy. You sensed the music more than you heard it. And the feeling of the crisp fresh air swirling around inside of the car. Someone was smoking cigarettes. That air was mostly being sucked out into the two lane road running Northeast/Southwest between Memphis, TN and a tiny town in southern Arkansas. We were out of town, on a trip, camping, seeing a friend, spending the night at our neighbors house, and simply "taking a drive," respectively; some of us had shiftier relationships with our parents than others.

The tip of my left index finger had a red blister on it due to what? Falling asleep smoking? Getting too close to the camp fire? It was impossible to say. It was 12:00, I had been awake for roughly 3 hours, and this was the first time I noticed it. Though certainly not an early riser, it was hard to sleep late in a tent with the sun pooling through the netted "window," and even in my painfully dehydrated state, I knew that the air would be even cooler down near the lake. And that as much pain as I was in metaphysically, that the cool air blowing around down there on my face would have a healing effect that I could not get in my parents house.

Nobody could talk. We had not learned anything valuable, or come to any conclusions about life. We had just gotten out of town for a weekend.