Driving down the 605.

The drive was always the worst part of the day.

As if the beach wasn't far enough, the traffic between LA and OC made it seem like we were driving to Cambodia.

To be honest, I hate the drive. It's long, dull, hot, and he's always listening to cheesy pop love songs.

I'm sure that makes me sound miserable. The drive had its ups though. Remember him singing? He'd always sing along (and wasn't half bad either).

It was different with him though. He poured his heart into whatever he sang, reminding me of a jazz singer soulfully crooning a smoke-filled lounge.

Yeah, he was something else all right. For all its hassle, I kind of do enjoy the drive.

It's too bad we finally got to the beach.