When you kissed me, we had just eaten dinner - grand slams each at Denny's, too fucked to get back on the road. Dizzy with feeling. We were in the car, and it was dark.

We were greasy and smelly, we reeked of reefer and pancakes. Two idiot boys in my dad's 78 Pontiac, quiet as mice, grasping for your hand in the limited moonlight.

I wanted to tell you something. I couldn't get it out right.

Sorry, Allen. And,

Thanks.