in the parking lot we slipped into her bucket seats.
kyrie took over from there.
at nearly 90 miles per hour she zipped us up to that windy edge known to some as mullholland
that sinuous road running the ridge of the santa monica mountains
where she then proceeded to pump her vehicle in and out of turns
sometimes dropping down to 50 miles per hour only to immediately gun it back up to 90 again
(fast, slow, fastfastslow)
sometimes a wide turn, sometimes a quick one
she preferred the tighter ones, the sharp controlled jerks
swinging left to right before driving back to the right, only so she could do it all over again
until after enough speed and enough wind and more distance than I'd been prepared to expect
taking me to parts of the city I rarely think of and never visit
I heard her say . . .