so tonight that I might see

We are in the car, the new car, the one with the clean interior and the shiny paint, the one we purchased last weekend after the Jetta decided to die at 60 mph on I-5. It's midnight in Portland, and we're waiting at an intersection while the light changes for phantom autos. The stereo is cranked to eleven, and we are rolling, rocking the whole damn car with our self-parodies as a bad hip-hop song makes the seats shake. At the corner, three slouching hipsters in carefully torn denim cast kohl-rimmed gazes in our direction. They look at us with pity, we two painfully adult, painfully un-hip people on the late side of twentysomething. And we look back and laugh, because we are so in love, and we only just remembered how beautiful the moonlit streets can be.