I have a funny story about something that happened in my car a long time ago. I was 16 years old. It was new year’s eve, or night, and I was with my friend Cadd. I had a great car, a Saab turbo. It was night time and we were drunk and high. I remember the misty evening, it wasn’t too cold. It was one of those nights when the headlights don’t do much good, their refraction on the particles of water hung suspended in the air caused too much reflection and I couldn’t see very far ahead of me. Grateful Dead was loud in the cavity of the vehicle. Maybe the fogginess I remember is from the smoke coming from us burning things inside of the car, and not the fogginess from outside. I know for certain we were smoking cigarettes, and probably also smoking pot. We had fireworks with us because it was New Year’s. We were driving from one friend’s house to another, and he lit a firework and was going to set it off and let it go out of his hand outside of the car window. I didn’t want him to do it, so I rolled the window up as he was rolling it down. The problem was that it was too late by that time, he had already lit it and the smoke from the fuse was buzzing and lighting up inside of the car, in his hand. We both freaked out, and I told him to put it out. He aimed it towards the floorboard in between his legs, and he stomped it out with his foot. It created a large black sooty spot on the floor mat. We laughed afterwards, but I had the worn worry about what my parents would think of the defacing of their car. I concocted an elaborate lie in my head quickly, so I could be prepared when I was inevitably questioned.