Thirteen Again

A car door slams.

Just a sound, really,

but it locks me to that night.

Thirteen years old,

spray paint cold,

the asphalt cracked and grim.

We were stupid then,

fueled by nothing,

by the rush, the sheer nerve.

Behind that abandoned mall,

answering some dumb call,

leaving our mark.

The panic when we heard a sound,

the quick scramble off the ground.

That adrenaline, sharp and bright,

still finds me in the dead of night.