The sun hadn't even fully cleared the horizon over the Romanian seaside when Andrei’s beat-up sedan rattled into the parking lot at Mamaia. The air was thick with salt and the smell of cheap coffee, but the energy in the car was electric.
"Put it on," Sorin grinned from the passenger seat, tapping the dashboard. "The anthem of the summer."
By the time they drove back to Bucharest, their voices were hoarse and their skin was bronzed, but the MP3 was still on repeat. They didn't need photos to remember the trip; they just needed to hear that one specific beat to be right back on the sand.