The highway is alive with neon, each streetlight flashing across your face as they drive, and you throw your head back, laughing into the warm rush of wind through the open window. Your boots thump against the dash in time with the pulsing synths on the radio, your hair whipping wild as you lean out, tasting freedom in the night air.

They glance over, grinning, their eyes bright as the lights fly past, and you grin back, your heart pounding like the bass. You don’t care where you’re going—only that you’re going fast, leaving the stale rooms and dead-end streets behind, the world shrinking in the rearview mirror.

You reach over, crank the volume, and sing along, shouting the words into the night, your laughter mixing with the music. They squeeze your hand on the gearshift, and you squeeze back, your smile so big it almost hurts.

In that moment, with the engine roaring and the world rushing by in streaks of color, you know you’re alive—and you don’t want to stop.