Time Machine

Played “Purple Rain” in the car for the kids. They thought it was nice. I realized they would never have it burned into their souls, blaring from a cheap DJ booth in a middle school gym, wearing shoes that look nice but pinch, hand-me-down jeans and his heart in his throat, praying for the nerve to ask that perfectly beautiful magical girl to dance but instead standing frozen wondering if he just lost some weight and learned to spike his hair like the cool guys maybe she would love him. You’re right kids, it is a nice song. And a helluva time machine.

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