The Drive-In Era
Buckle up. The coordinates are set to 1975. The air smells like leaded gasoline and Aqua Net. Fleetwood Mac hums from the radio. Ghosting is something that only happens in cartoons.
He does not send a late-night text. He calls at six, talks to your father for three minutes about football, and asks out loud if you would like to go to the drive-in on Friday night.
When Friday comes, he does not honk from the curb. He walks to the porch, knocks on the door, and stands there with his courage in plain sight.
The songs are written for proposals, for first dances, for anniversaries, and for the kind of love that still deserves spoken words.