I should have taken her in the car when she dropped me off
-- after that night of too much wine and that's stolen kiss -- and kept her
from needing to find someone else to finish the job, her calling me later to
explain how she needed to work things out and how love had nothing to do with
anything, I should have believed her; I
should have been the one she had worked things out with, even if in the end it
might not have anything to do with love, the old McCartney song singing in my
head about the backseat of the car; I should have finished the job, stolen more
than just a midnight kiss. But I missed the opportunity; I still regret it and
always will, asking myself if I could live up to those lyrics in the backseat
of her car
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