Shoebox

We made out on a trampoline in high school, now I'm sitting on your brown couch from IKEA in downtown (mid) Detroit watching some sitcom about a band from New Zealand.  You drive me home because it's the right thing to do and there have been stories about random muggings, etc.  In the car, we smoked camels and listened to a band that sounded like Interpol but darker, like a Bright Eyes twist.  We're the only friend each other has here in the city.  So far so good.