Pensacola

Eating up the highway like starving 12 year old boys on a journey with friends who are more kin than not. Horseplay and water fights at the gas station soaking the not so innocent bystander. Conversations take turns round the interior like squirrels leaping from limb to limb. Throwing hands out the window wind whistling through fingers as we chant "Almost there, almost there" and the sky's all blue like the kind that marks those perfect days as lyrics float out of the speakers, hidden voices singing us on our way as we dance in our seats on the way to sun, sand, the ocean. The forecast predictions of scattered drunkenness, delicious meals and dancing as if we never had before.  And it will all be so amazing that we'll look back on this time and say, "yeah. That was a hell of a trip!" Hey! Just saw a sign! We’re almost there!  Almost there…

Randi M. Romo March 2013 ©