Why Do I Do It?

I’m cruising down some back road, mid-July, with the windows down, the country music loud (probably too loud), watching the stars and the dust fly up in the red glow of the one good taillight of my old blazer; I’m 16 years old and just out driving around because I can. My Garth Brooks Double Live CD goes silent, and then those red hot fiddles of “Ain’t Going Down Til The Sun Comes Up” rev up and squeal powerful from the 2 still working speakers that I have left. The excitement sends chills do...