This past Saturday night, around 1 am, a car drove by on our quiet suburban street, with the windows down and the system up, and the sound of several raucous young people
singing screaming along the words to their favorite song, as loud and defiantly as they could muster. What song is that, I thought, standing over the sink with my toothbrush? A gangstarr-rap anthem of anti-authoritarian opposition? A girls-night-out party-in-the-club lets-get-crunk-pop-hit? And then I made out the words, shouted from the car windows….”you are coming down with me, hand in unlovable hand…”
All these years, Michelle and I have been belting that “I can remember when we were in high school, our dreams were like fugitive warlords,” but clearly “I HOPE YOU DIE, I HOPE WE BOTH DIE” is the best possible thing to yell very loudly in a quiet neighborhood on a Saturday night.
Mt. Pleasant, ladies and gentlemen