The song starts up.
Suddenly your brain flashes back to late nights lying on the faded corduroy couch with your first boyfriend. Scratchy records spin in the background, the TV flickers on mute, and you cuddle under thin blankets while everyone sleeps upstairs. The chorus builds up as you kiss in the shadows by the ping pong table …
The song starts up.
Memory jolts zoom you to late night teenage dance parties when everyone drove rustbuckets to the dark city park and met for sneaky cigarettes, sweaty swingset rides, and dirty dancing under the dim moonlight as cars cranked Top 40 tunes in the parking lot …
The song starts up.
A homemade mix tape is slipped in your hand from a star-crossed lover before a long summer vacation. You lay in bed listening to the slashy first chords and boom-dropping bass again and again as your heart twists and turns for Labor Day …
The song starts up.
And sends you way back.
AWESOME!
— Email message —
“Today I cocooned at my parent’s cottage, curled up on a comfy 30 year old La-z-boy recliner to read The Book of Awesome. I can think of no better way to spend a rainy Sunday. Wearing my sweat pants I fondly remembered my Mom’s white ’95 Chevy Lumina, nicked named “The Dustbuster” (because it looked like one of those re-chargable vacuums) and the amazing power of orange slices. I laughed out loud a dozen times and just yesterday I walked through a department store door as it was closing, with out touching it. It felt great!” – A.J.
