Golden Years

As stars set in the northern sky
we stare into a empty parking lot,
and smoke the nights first cigarette.
we stand under the red neon lights
to gossip about the night we'd had.

"making friends with drunks."
"And bumming cigarettes off cheap girls."
"All in a days night." We say, "ready for
another night to begin."

Nightly we dance beneath the noctilucent clouds filling our minds with illegal substances and lungs with tar.
"Are these the stories we will tell our grandchildren about?"  I ponder, blowing smoke into the fresh summer breeze. 

Our golden years;
from
chain smoking in restaurant parking lots,
getting high in a strangers car 
the sky filled with teeming clouds.
The glow of red neon lights shine on the
young faces hiding their sucken eyes
so young and so naive.
to
laughing behind the counter at girls that try to hard,
us knowing love isn't found in a place like this.
and
a love story from our generation.
she ran into the open arms of his heart
and he left his heart on her sleeve
all
to the sound of old time music in the background.

Are these the stories I could tell?