Back in the Desert

On that glittering night, when even the road shone in the reflection of the city light, he drove back his Corvette into his garage. In his leather jacket, rugged jeans and Elvis hair he walked back to his room spinning the keys of his car in his middle finger. He had driven from bar to bar with friends and acquaintances and had planned long drives with girls he had met on the way. He had given lifts to hitchhikers and guided them to places. His car was adored and his manners were appreciated and along with the heroine, this had kept him high.
But like every other day he drove back home alone. The keys lay on the table while he showered and Beatles played in the otherwise quiet room.