She’s sitting in the truck. It’s a cold night and the football game is just over. Her nose is red and she will be sniffling here in a minute. A country song would sweep her right up, because she’s from a small town and they just won a big game. But she’s afraid. And so is he. They both love each other. (I’m not against that feeling – I think it’s real.) But they both think it has to end. It’s like a curse, isn’t it? For small town folk you almost have to believe – it’s practically your religion – that you’ll get your heart broke by your high school love. Maybe that’s some deep truth in the south. Maybe it’s bound up with the way life is here. All I know is that a memory of a high school flame on a fall night surrounding a football game can take me to places I can’t get to anywhere else. And my my, how sweet it all smells when you get there. The youth. The innocence. The love. The whole thing is just near too much to even talk about. Isn’t it?


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