The cool night air whipped past his face as the car sped through the evening, set head on towards its destination. His right hand tapped out a sloppy rhythm on the window sill to the cheesy hair metal being played.

“Shit, man, he’s out cold.” Pete said, motioning to the man sleeping in the back seat.

“Yep” Polk said, chuckling to himself. The song entered a crescendo, going into the chorus, and the two looked at each other, each with a sly smile across their face, knowing they both had the same idea. They both reached the volume knob at the same time, and Pete backed his hand away, fixating his attention on driving. Just as the chorus hit, Polk cranked the knob as far as it could go, blasting a loud, “HERE I GO AGAIN ON MY OWN” throughout the car and into the nighttime. Meier awoke with a startle.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” Pete greeted Meier. Polk let out a loud laugh, and was quickly greeted with a cold Pabst Blue Ribbon tapping him on his left shoulder. He grabbed it, and motioned a quick “Thanks” to Meier with the beer. He tapped the top of the can twice before opening it. It leaked a white, clean foam out of the top, and he took a long slug from the can. He lowered the can from his mouth, and let out a refreshing “AAH” as he rested it on his knee.

Soon they were at their destination, a large building that could very well have been a court house or a ballroom. He felt a rush of acceleration as Pete started tossing up earth with several perfectly executed doughnuts. Polk grabbed his “Oh my god” handle and held on for dear life: both to the handle and his half-full beer. The car squealed to a stop and he let go of the handle. He put the beer on the roof of the car, and grabbed the top of the door frame to pull himself out. It would have been easier to just open the door, yeah, but it also would have been much less stylish. He slid his seat up, to let Meier out of the backseat.

“Hurry up and get the hell out of the car!” Polk exclaimed.

He let out a long, exaggerated stretch, as if they had been driving for hours instead of the 20 minutes they had actually spent on the road. It was then that he noticed the devastation Pete’s car had left on the grass it had tore up. A giant circle, probably a couple of inches deep, surrounded the Camaro, as if signifying it a new parking space. It smoked and sizzled as he smelled the burning earth around him. He chuckled to himself, and grabbed the Pabst from the roof of the car. He chugged the rest of it, and tossed it into the brisk night air.

He turned his attention to the ballroom itself, squinting to see if he saw anybody he knew. He caught a glimpse of some fine looking ladies, and put on his white sunglasses, unintentionally reminding himself of that Corey Hart song. He checked his attire one more time: tuxedo t-shirt, khaki shorts, and black-and-white checkerboard Vans tennis shoes. These are party clothes, he thought to himself. I can’t imagine myself dressed up in one of those suits all damn ni- his thought was interrupted by the panicked sounds of two tiny voices, pointing at Pete’s bumper. A large dent filled with white fur and blood was the center of their attention, and Polk laughed at the misfortune of what he assumed was one of those annoying moogles. He noticed Pete and Meier rolling the keg into the building, and ran after them.

“Hey guys! Wait up! Do you need any help rolling the keg?”