You’re a young college student, home for the summer. You are working one night with your friends, and during the last hour of your shift, they mention a local carnival/festival they’re going to. You were unaware and didn’t have any plans for the night, so you tag along.
After driving into one of the rural towns nearby, you pull up to park in a dirt field that’s been cleared for the festival’s parking. You open the car door to dust that’s been kicked up from all the cars driving through the lot. Hopefully, the night doesn’t ruin my white Converses, you think to yourself.
The car door shuts behind you, and as you stand and stretch your legs, you’re immediately pulled in by the scent of kettle corn. The festival isn’t within sight, but you begin to hear the sound of rides, game buzzers, kids laughing, and food sizzling.
You and your friends follow a crowd of people over a grassy hill towards the carnival. Finally, the neon and colored incandescent bulbs are in sight and light up the field around you.
Before you enter, you look over to your right and you see a baseball field.
Something in the field catches your attention.
Within the baseball field are some classic cars, scattered as early birds are choosing their perfect spots for the cruise night. It’s mostly Day 2 mods or relatively stock classics, which is what you’ve come to know and love. It’s a wave of nostalgia, the closest thing you get to American Graffiti in real life.
Keystones, Cragars, all sorts of wheels on these classics. This is what screams rock and roll to you. It’s the kind of night that urges you to turn on the radio for some ZZ Top, Bruce Springsteen, and The Rolling Stones. The weather is perfect for your favorite t shirt and jeans.
What awaits you is your favorite carnival food. A cheeseburger and a root beer float, followed by a cherry dip vanilla cone.
It’s not your first night home for the summer, but it’s the night that officially marks it as being summer time. Because this is what you’ve been waiting for.