Your whole life was travel around the US.

It was all you had ever known, since you were three years old in the summer of '48 and your mother announced boldly that you were moving to California, way down on the West Coast. After that, it was the East, near Maryland. Then Boston, Massachusetts. And then you lost track.

Now, you were seventeen in the hot, sticky summer of 1965, strolling down the unfamiliar streets of Tulsa, Oklahoma. It was getting late, but you knew your mom wouldn't give a damn what time you were home.

You skipped across an old junkyard, and paused as you heard voices from behind the locked fence.

It was almost sundown, who would trespass in an old junkyard this late at night?

You look down at your fancy new shoes that your mom had bought you and sighed. "Sorry, mama." You muttered to yourself and threw them over the side of the fence, then scaled it, lifting up your dress so it didn't get caught in the fence.

You followed the voices, peeking out behind an old Ford truck, and spotted about seven boys who must be having the time of their lives, playing beer pong with cigarettes wedged in their lips, cackling and dancing to inaudible music.

They didn't look much older than you, but you felt out of place there, a girl who's dress skirt was rolled up to her thighs, barefoot and holding shoes in her hands. You hesitated and then turned to leave, but before you could, you step on a loose piece of glass on the ground.

"Shit!" You swear a little bit too loudly, catching the attention of the boys.

You watch in nervous anticipation as they turn their heads to look at you.