Dirty White Boots

Her eyes grew in horror as he peeled the orange.

Suddenly her dirty white boots didn’t matter and dancing was off the table.

Plastic grey stop button on boom box, pressed.

The race to the big blue Lincoln was won by the somewhat sober girl.

Dirty White Boots and me, the driver— dodged beer bottles and pot holes on a old two track.

Headlights bounced onto the asphalt and I could finally hear the radio playing.

Return to the Pink Elephant, to return the entertainment.

The drive home was dark, not a star in the sky—