The Superman Boys of 1978
Or regrets in a parking lot
We were young girls. The older men called us ‘kittens’. We checked our compact mirrors hourly. Wearing skin-tight jeans, tiny tops, and frosty pink lip-gloss, we were soft-skinned, wide-eyed and thrill-seeking.
Foreigner’s ‘Hot Blooded’ blasted from eight-track tapes as the men in cars circled. Teri and I walked, with an air of cool disinterest…