some of my favorite memories are of driving up hwy9 with my boys… the occasional jerk of the stick shift. hair whipping back and forth with the convertible top down. heater on full blast to combat the january chill. we’d wind up the side of the mountain to see san francisco shimmering in all its beauty over 40 miles away. we’d laugh the careless laugh that only teenagers without a care in the world could laugh. they’d smoke their marlboro reds and blow second-hand smoke downwind so i wouldn’t die an early death. we were family, united by rebellion and youthful angst against families that loved us too much. little could we fathom the real life stresses that would come hurtling our way just a few short years later… 

(Source: yimmyayo, via welcomeback)