Saturday night was like an old movie. Patrick, Mark and I cruised the main drag (ha) of Rockville, Maryland, then stopped for ice cream at the place where Patrick’s younger brother works. The place was full of young people who, in any other town (like, say, mine) would be off drinking in a field somewhere. I felt like we were at the local soda fountain, clean-cut kid behind the counter giving us a 70 cent discount. Then we drove around listening to retro-weekend radio shows, through Georgetown, where the whole thing could have dissolved at any moment into American Graffiti. Sports cars gunning it off the stop lights, people hanging out windows and sun roofs in stalled traffic, music mixing from open windows… I was entertained.