An old friend has written about the stretch of time between school and college, when everybody’s still stuck in the suburbs and longing to get out.
I remember the details a little differently, but his piece captures the longing and quiet truths of that time in my life:
All romance in Kendall occurs in vast, dark parking lots. All flirt and suggestion takes place amidst Blazers and Cougars and Mustangs. Or if it’s late enough, the lot is empty, and we are just divided by ten feet of yellow line.