I stayed in my car last night listening to "Too Late for Love." I saw us flying down Riggs Road in your Chevette on free periods, me learning how to smoke and listen to Kix, alive. You cleaned out your purse in creative writing, shaking out pot seeds I’d never seen. ‘Laurie, you’re so good honey.’ You lived in a cemetery, loving Prince and heavy metal. You helped me rock first. I owe you big.