I was 18 and a college freshman. It was a Tuesday night in October. My 1970 Chevy Impala felt wide open in the fifty-degree air and the smell of freshly fallen leaves.
I drove through Forest Park feeling the rhythm of the yellow street lights as I moved between light and dark. “Memory” from Cats came on the radio. I lit a Camel (no filter).
I was free.
In America, we often think of independence as a collective thing.
Read more →