Back in my day, a “Sunday drive” wasn’t code for running errands with a bad attitude and a drive-thru iced coffee sweating in the cupholder.
No ma’am. A Sunday drive was an event. It had purpose, even if that purpose was absolutely nothin’ at all.
We’d pile into a truck that had seen more years than sense, eight people deep, knees tangled, somebody sittin’ halfway on a cooler, and not a whisper of a…