This may or may not be a true story...
The last ray of crimson light burned across the western horizon. The few clouds left in the sky, fanned out like fingers, drawing the night across the world. The first star winked into view over head. It was the kind of star you made a wish on...
The classic red convertible was parked at the over view, looking out over the valley, now hidden in the dusk of a summer evening...
The night was warm, but not stifling...
They were young....They were alive.
They lay on the hood of the car, looking up into the cobalt heavens....stars beginning to reflect in their eyes...
Music played softly from the car speakers...Phil Collins...
They talked of life and dreams. They reveled in the beauty of the moment...
Then they sat up and looked around at all the people now making out in all the other cars, at the end of Zarahemla Street, and one said to the other:
"You know, maybe next time we should bring girls up here..."
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