Being young was ferocious and I loved it. I sped to the edge of insanity every night like a fucking rocket. I rode the wheel of my 69' Ford pick up 100mph down every street in Travis county. One of my favorite past times was sitting on my hood while idling down the Howard lane airport runway in the middle of the night. The Granny Gear in that old Ford would crawl to South Austin if you let it. I crept down that midnight runway a 1,000 times; it never died once. After a while, my favorite pair of jeans went missing the center belt loop from me snagging it on the end of the broken tip of the passenger side wiper. I'd leave the driver's side door open and lean back against the windshield drinking Goldschlager out of the bottle. I remember being grateful for the way the unsanded black primer on my hood kept me from sliding down and off the nose of the truck. Hell, to this day, I won't buy a pick-up that still has good paint. You can't sit on a wax job without slipping off the edge. I just might be the only drunk in Austin who's ever done one person Chinese fire drills at the airport. I don't recommend trying it, at least not without practice, and NEVER at the airport.
