I remember looking up at her apartment through the windshield of my car while I idled in neutral at the bottom of an impossibly steep hill. I drive stick at the time, and in the middle of winter the winding road leading up to the building would turn into an icy death course. One small mistake, whether it was giving it too much gas or not enough, would mean my car could slide back and off the road where I would surely begin cart wheeling end over end until I exploded in a bal of flames. (Either that or id have to call a tow truck to get me out of the ditch. Either way it meant I wouldn’t be making it up to the princess in the castle.)
They don’t write songs about the guys who turn around and go home to jerk off. They don’t write songs about horny college guys trying to get laid either, but I was pumping myself up. In the movies this is where the rock and roll would kick in and the hero would drop the car into gear and slam his foot on the gas.