“Where are we?” I said.

She shrugged.

“You’re good at driving around,” I said.

“What?”

“I can’t do it, I’m always too anxious, like I have to know the next turn.”

“There’s not much to it,” she said. “If you don’t care, you can’t make a mistake.”

This seemed profound to me and I was quiet. She took a left down a street that ended in a cul-de-sac. We turned around and she tried a different street, and another. They kept circling and we saw more quiet townhomes, more gates, more fake old-fashioned oil lamps on the fences. I felt jangly, disconnected, like where we were had nothing to do with me. I watched us like a commercial, because it was on.

“Hey,” she said. “A park.”

Up the block lay an expanse of green, a stone table, a swing set and jungle gym. The playground looked enchanted, marked by white light from the lamps along a paved path. My face ached from the coke. We walked on brown mulch, twisting our ankles in our high-heeled shoes, and huddled on the ground by the metal slide. The night was warm and windless. Audrey measured out two fat lines on the flat part of the slide. Her lips curved up at the corners, setting her dimples in shadow. She pulled her hair back with one hand, eyes shining black in the sodium light. We snorted the lines.

“Come on,” she said.

She ran to the swing set. I left our rolled dollar bill on the slide and followed her. We each took a swing and soon we were breathless, pumping with our legs. Audrey’s shoe flew off at the top of her arc and banged the merry-go-round with a metal clang. We waited to see if it woke any of the neighbors. No sign came from the houses.

“Swing, swang, swung,” Audrey chanted. I tried to get in sync with her. The chains of her swing ran parallel to the ground, she was that high.

“I love swings,” I said. “How come I never swing anymore?”

“Because,” Audrey said. “There’s always fucking kids around.”

“You’re right,” I said, laughing. “That’s exactly it.”

“I bet I can jump past the sidewalk,” Audrey said.

“Be careful,” I said, but she was already airborne. She landed in a crouch, on her feet, a yard or two short of the path, and leapt up and did a cartwheel.

“I used to be a cheerleader,” she said. “Were you a cheerleader? Let’s do cheers.”

“I never went to a game,” I said. “I smoked and listened to the Smiths.”

Audrey ignored me. She did another cartwheel. Her flared skirt fell up, revealing a lacy thong. On her feet, she began an elaborate series of motions, finishing with her arms outstretched. She chanted, “Win! Win! Wildcats! Whoo!”

“That’s cute,” I said. I let my feet scuff the dirt. “Did you have a little outfit?”

“I had two,” she said. “Green and gold, and white with green and gold trim. And pompoms. I was very popular.”