1967. It was like a dream. The way his body moved. He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. She could tell he was a good kisser too. The way his lips wrapped around the cherries he popped in his mouth as he kept driving. And every now and then he would keep the cheery seeds in his mouth and play with them before spitting them out the window. He was majestic, and he probably knew it too. Beautiful things like him always do. It was like he had stories to tell her. And she was willing to listen. In which a scared girl gets a ride from a lovesick boy.