Alternate Universe on a Friday Night in Ridgway, Colorado

Her long pink scarf
trails a bright wake
across the setting sun
as she screeches to a stop
in her 1968 aquamarine
Camaro convertible.  Jump in,
she says without even looking at me,
and I understand that I
am not supposed to use
the door.  It is still too cold
to have the top down,
but we don’t care
because night belongs
to the rebel soul,
and the streets
are alive with music,
so much music.