Carrie suggested we go for drive in her new 2-door BMW coupe. In the parking lot, we slipped into her bucket seats; Carrie took over from there. At nearly 90 miles per hour she zipped us up to that windy edge known to some as Mulholland, a sinuous road running the ridge of the Santa Monica Mountains, where she then proceeded to pump her vehicle in and out of turns. Sometimes dropping down to 50 miles per hour, only to immediately gun it back up to 90 again. Fast. Slow. Fast. Fast. Slow. Sometimes a wide turn, sometimes a quick one. She preferred the tighter ones, the sharp, controlled jerks swinging left to right, before driving back to the right, only so she could do it all over again. Until after enough speed and enough wind, and more distance than I'd been prepared to expect, taking me to parts of the city I rarely think of, and never visit, I heard her say,

Chorus
"Hey pretty, don't ya wanna take a ride with me,
Through my world?
Hey pretty, don't ya wanna kick a slide,
Through my world? (Do you get the gist of the song now?)


I can't remember the innane things I started babbling about then. I know it didn't really matter, she wasn't listening. She just yanked up on the emergency break, dropped her seat back, and told me to lie on top of her. On top of those leather pants of hers, her hands immediately guiding mine over those soft, slightly-oily folds, positioning my fingers on a shiny, metal tab, small and round, like a tear. Then mummering a mummer so inaudible that even though I could feel her lips tremble against my ear, she seemed far, far away. "Pinch it," she said, which I did lightly until she also said, "Pull it," which I also did, gently parting the teeth, one at a time, down under and beneath the longest unzipping of my life.

Hey pretty, don't ya wanna take a ride with me,
Through my world?
Hey pretty, don't ya wanna kick and slide,
Through my world?
Hey pretty, my pretty baby
Rock it through my world
Hey pretty, my pretty baby


We never even kissed or looked into each other's eyes, our lips just trespassed on those inner labryinths hidden deep within our ears, filled them with the private music of wicked words, hers in many languages, mine in the off-color of my only tongue. Too bad dark languages rarely survive.

Hey pretty, my pretty baby
My pretty baby
Don't ya wanna take a ride with me? (2x)
(My baby)
Don't ya wanna take a ride with me?
(My baby)
My pretty baby (Don't ya wanna)
Rock it through my world
Don't you wanna take a ride with me?
My baby (Don't you wanna)
My baby (Don't you wanna take a ride with me?)

Do you get the gist of the song now?
Don't you wanna take a ride with me?
Do you get the gist of the song now?