Sure, we could go out on another date and another date after that and more dates after that, but life is short and getting shorter, and I want to spend whatever time I have left with you. When we are together, it feels like we are speeding down the PCH in a Duesenberg, 12 cylinders with 400 cc's and turbo boosts and picnic basket in the back with baguettes and Gruyere and prosciutto and Chateauneuf-du-Pape, and you are sitting next to me, wind in your hair, and you are laughing that laugh, and the sun, and the ocean. And it just feels like we can go forever.

It's wonderful, this love thing. Why should it make any sense? When I think about the reasons I'm in love with Debbie, okay, she's kind, she's funny, she's loving. But that's not it. Not really. There are other people in the world that are kinder, that are funnier, that are more loving than she is, but she makes me happy just being around her. It makes absolutely no sense, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.

The day after I got my driver's license, I went out and bought a 1963 Galaxie, Midnight Blue. 1,255 bucks; every penny I earned for the past three years working in a gas station. I loved it. Because a car to a sixteen-year-old kid means independence, which means he can go wherever he wants whenever he wants. And that doesn't change with age; in fact, it means even more.