Link, you have to find me!

It was in the back seat of my best friends Jeep Grand Cherokee. No matter how many times I rode in it, the color still escapes me. Navy? Charcoal? Who cares. It was always too dark to tell or we were too busy screaming over each other to notice. There were always home-made CDs burned in the deck with titles like "Summer 2003", "City Nights", "Seniors '04", "Party 4 Eva" and such of that nature. The kind of cheesey adolescence that I wish I still had hiding in a spare CD case somewhere in my parents house back in Westchester. 

There was so much anticipation of what those Saturday nights had in store for us. The taste of sticky, stinging whiskeys or overly sweet, cheap, pinot. It was hot, windows were down, and we were ready to drank. 

As we hit the bridge to NYC, whether orchestrated or by some teenage miracle, "Juicy" by the Notorious B.I.G would whisper on the radio, growing into full magnum speaker blasting, seat reclining, straight, chillin', dreaming modes. Word for word. Smiles across the truck. His struggles were our struggles (or not really at all) but the vibe was the vibe and there was nothing better than having no idea what to expect but whatever it was, it was going to be big. Totally unstoppable. 

Did we know about Moet? Not really. Alize? Not so much. Now, almost ten years later, with a little more knowledge, I daze out into subway window cars, mouthin' off, "I'm blowin up like you thought I would, call the crib, same numba same hood and it's allllll goooooooood".