he had a bad habit of revisiting the past
(cruising in her parents' van and fucking on the overpass)
three strong whiskey gingers and he's calling up ghosts
sayin' thought about that summer
how's your mother?
I propose a toast
to doomed flings and ill-advised plots
groping in the parks
naming body parts
fall asleep
woken up by rent-a-cops
to minor car crashes on gravel roads
to getting one hand up that swimsuit that you wore instead of underclothes
to drive-in movies
sneaking friends through in the trunk
back when your dad wasn't sick yet
wasn't dying
took us sailing and the sailboat fucking sunk
to staying friends with exes once you've given up on love
to having drunken conversations with the people who remind you of the past you never think about until you're past your limit and you're drunk
