The kids started a fire in an old oil drum. Someone turned up a radio, and the crackling air filled with a slow, swaying beat. They danced without rhythm, just feeling the pulse of the desert. They weren't worried about the economy, or the news, or the crumbling cities beyond the dunes. They were just "seen."
The world was big, and they were small, but for those three minutes under the rising moon, they were the masters of everything. Lana Del Rey - Love
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of apricot and violet, a beat-up truck pulled in. Out tumbled a group of teenagers, their limbs long and tan, wearing thrift-store denim and radiating that specific, terrifying energy of being young and immortal. The kids started a fire in an old oil drum