Keisha was driving home from a long night out early on a Sunday morning. As she took the back roads into Bayonne her headlights bathed their light over the vacant lots and deserted streets of Jersey City. It was a good night, but now all she wanted was to kick off her shoes, take a hot shower, pull a mask over her eyes and sleep until the afternoon.
She wasn’t drunk — anymore, but there was no way that opossum would be sharing scraps of fried chicken and wet Chinese noodles with a pair of fat raccoons in trucker hats. She stopped at the light: why would she think she could feel the thrum of their party beats?
She made sure the doors were locked. And didn’t wait for the light to turn green before rolling though, shaking her head, laughing to herself. “I’m not gonna remember this, and nobody would believe it anyway.”