Rewrite these lyrics in the form of a short story. Don't include much dialogue. Rather, be descriptive about the environment, emotions, etc. Make it from the POV of a woman talking about a man, but don't mention names.

You got a fast car
I want a ticket to anywhere
Maybe we make a deal
Maybe together we can get somewhere
Any place is better
Starting from zero got nothing to lose
Maybe we'll make something
Me, myself, I got nothing to prove
You got a fast car
I got a plan to get us outta here
I been working at the convenience store
Managed to save just a little bit of money
Won't have to drive too far
Just 'cross the border and into the city
You and I can both get jobs
And finally see what it means to be living
See, my old man's got a problem
He live with the bottle, that's the way it is
He says his body's too old for working
His body's too young to look like his
My mama went off and left him
She wanted more from life than he could give
I said somebody's got to take care of him
So I quit school and that's what I did
You got a fast car
Is it fast enough so we can fly away?
We gotta make a decision
Leave tonight or live and die this way
So I remember when we were driving, driving in your car
Speed so fast it felt like I was drunk
City lights lay out before us
And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder
And I-I had a feeling that I belonged
I-I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone
You got a fast car
We go cruising, entertain ourselves
You still ain't got a job
And I work in the market as a checkout girl
I know things will get better
You'll find work and I'll get promoted
We'll move out of the shelter
Buy a bigger house and live in the suburbs
So I remember when we were driving, driving in your car
Speed so fast it felt like I was drunk
City lights lay out before us
And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder
And I-I had a feeling that I belonged
I-I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone
You got a fast car
I got a job that pays all our bills
You stay out drinking late at the bar
See more of your friends than you do of your kids
I'd always hoped for better
Thought maybe together you and me'd find it
I got no plans, I ain't going nowhere
Take your fast car and keep on driving
So I remember when we were driving, driving in your car
Speed so fast it felt like I was drunk
City lights lay out before us
And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder
And I-I had a feeling that I belonged
I-I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone
You got a fast car
Is it fast enough so you can fly away?
You gotta make a decision
Leave tonight or live and die this way
His car was the fastest in town.

I knew this because it always kept me up at night. Well, me and the rest of the people in this slice of suburbia. To me, the way his engine barreled through the dirt roads sounded less like a disturbance and more like a promise of something better. And if there was one thing I knew, it was that I was getting out of this place.

And maybe he was too young, or foolish, or naive- but when I came up to him and laid my cards out on the table he was far too eager to take the bet. What I asked of him was crazy, and I remember preparing myself for the worst, but he just smiled and nodded his head. Looking back, maybe I was too young, foolish, or naive too.

But all the same, I was making a plan. It was easy enough to get a job at the convenience store not long after that, and I remember working every shift I could, meticulously saving every cent in a shoebox under my bed. And each bill or copper round that made its way from my fingers into the pile was another milestone closer to where I wanted to go: anywhere.

It's funny, but I can't quite remember the moment that boy and I became something more. If I had to guess, I would think it was one of the nights we spent together on the hood of that infamous car, driven out into the fields just shy of the border into the city. We talked about the jobs we'd find and the lives we'd soon make for ourselves-

Or I'd talk about the one I was leaving behind. I'd walk in through the doors of my home only to be greeted by the smell of liquor- either on the breath of my father, whose stomach I'd stare at for proof of life, or worked in deep through the threads of our carpet. My mother, who I used to hate (and I still do, but maybe it's because of jealousy now), left him the second he proved he was heading nowhere, leaving me in the aftermath.

When we finally left, my soul was featherweight.

The boy was flashing white teeth at me from the driver's seat, a denim-clad arm working its way from his side and around my shoulder. I don't remember anything playing on the radio, I just remember the way my heart leaped when I read the welcome sign into the nearest city, and concrete-wrapped buildings shot out of the dirt I had grown so tired of. I think back to laying my cards out on the table and to the sound of this boy's engine cutting through the silence at 2 AM and cannot fathom how I was able to bring this fantasy to life-

But the adrenaline wore off about two weeks into our stay at the shelter.

I was back to saving pennies, this time in a duffel bag, and this time working as a checkout girl at the market. It was sobering, seeing the boy come back to me each night looking more defeated than when he left that morning. Some days he smelt like my dad, and just like I did with my dad when I was a kid, I would pretend that he didn't.

It was after the birth of our first son that I realized I was not a martyr. And after our second, I no longer cried to the empty side of our bed that I bought, underneath the roof of a home that was paid for in duffel bag dollar bills. The only thing in this home that was not my own,

sat idly in the garage when it was not in the parking lot of our local dive bar.

It was 2 AM when I told him, pressing his keys into the palm of his calloused hand, to make a choice:

“Leave tonight or live and die this way.”