We stole the last minute of the hot, sticky summer air.

It hit our skin hard when you pressed on the gas.

It twirled and danced on our skin-

like it was magic.

Like we were magicians in the night.

You have the music on.

"It's country," you say while your brown eyes twinkle in the red light.

The clock says 10:42.

You turn right on red and give me an uncertain smile.

"Do you like country?" You blush.

I turn towards you; wide eyed and grinning.

"I havn't been in the South long enough."

We laugh, our voices echoing through the night.

We leave it at that.

And it's still 10:42.