We sit in her car parked in front of the Race Trac as “Feeling This” by Blink 182 silently plays in the background of what seems like a scene from a movie. The taste of frozen yogurt resides in my mouth as I glare at her from the driver’s seat. With my legs propped up on her seat, I could feel the cold air pass from the vents onto my bare skin as the humid air seeps its way in through the rolled down window of the passenger’s seat. This intense rush of cold causes me to nestle up in the sweater she loaned me earlier that night. I watch as she breathes in the smoke of her cigarette. I watch as her ribs expand only to concave as the circulating cloud of smoke is drawn out of her pursed lips into the surrounding atmosphere. The beauty of it all, her in this delicate moment, does not cease to change the stench that soon fills my senses and the awareness I make known of her ruining the body she inhabits. I sit still, crammed in her cluttered car, captivated by her every move as she sways to the song with a heavy head. Her drink infused personality leads humorous conversations. I lay back onto the seat curious of her thoughts and free of all the stress that had once filled my mind. I am aware of this moment and how this exact time in our lives will soon be just a memory as time progresses. This is why I watch her, to remember how she looks under the moonlit sky for she will never look the same. My thoughts are interrupted as I am distracted by a worker walking out of the plated glass doors to the tables on the right of us only to sit himself down for what seems like a breath of fresh air. I then become unsettled by the horizontal row of lamp posts that form a barrier between him and us. I count one lamp post then two bollards, then another lamp post then three bollards, and then another lamp post and then there are seven bollards following the lamp post that now has me looking to my left. The offset of what should have been four bollards brings me discomfort. I recount consistently to confirm what is before me and see they fall parallel to the lamp posts on the other side of the lot where my eyes spot another car. A dark shadow in the driver’s seat watches the heavier woman slip out of the passenger seat with eyes of knowing as she enters the gas station. Thoughts race through my mind of how people can live in the same moment, but are only familiar to their own lives. Here we are, several feet beside each other, living as strangers for we only play a minor role in each other’s lives. She has objectives unknown to anyone who is not a part of her mind just like I sit here with my thoughts in a parked car in front of the Race Trac as “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” now floods the speakers. I turn to be captivated once more by someone who knows me and my thoughts as she pulls out another cigarette to light. I stare in awe of what importance is she to have shared this movie moment with me.