Songs as stories

Good Times/All Time Low

I ran through the streets, laughter throwing tears into my eyes, looking back over my shoulder to make sure my friends were following me. We flew through the alleys, the darkness of the night only adding to our speed.

We stumbled into a wide, cobbled street, right in the middle of two massive guys who were staring each other down, almost at each other's throats. My friends and I glanced at each other, the laughter cut off in our throats, and we fled, the high of the escape bubbling up into more ecstatic laughing. We ran, we leapt, we skipped, until we found ourselves at the edge of a canal, where we sat, suddenly exhausted. We pulled off our shoes and socks, rolled up our jeans, and dipped our toes into the water, the cold spiking our adrenaline once more. We passed a bottle of vodka, obviously concealed in a brown paper bag, and lit up our cigarettes, sitting in silence as the dark blue sky turned orange and yellow, watching the reflection of the sunrise in the water.

Though tired by our latest escapade, we refused to go home and rest, instead finding a guy with an old Impala and convincing him to drive us around town with the roof down, singing at the top of our lungs. People stared, watching as 'the leather jacket crew' sped past, hair of every colour flying in the wind, old songs playing loud on the radio, but we didn't care. We were loving our life, for the first time since we were young, and I wouldn't change it for the world.