Panama City Beach.
4 girls and without a care in the world.
Alcohol we scrounged up from our older friends.
Junk food and rap music mixed with Southern Rock on our 6-disc CD player in our car.
No social media.
No palm-sized demons tracking us or telling us who to be.
Free time and Free Bird.
Conversations without abbreviations or acronyms.
Spoken not typed.
Learning as we go without Siri, Alexa, or YouTube to help us.
Is it better or is it worse?
Public coming of age or private memories?
These "stories" told in 2023... are they even the truth?
I can't stop it.
I can't change it.
My boys are in it.
Will they survive it like we did?
Corona with a lime.
19, 20, 21 and a beach breeze.
Music as the soundtrack to youth in the night.
Some things remain true.
Love and heartache.
Friendship and comparison.
The vigor and the pain of growing up.
Goodnight sweet sunset.
I see you in my rearview.
Sweet Home on my Apple Car Play.
Blue eyes smiling back at me.
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