Before I Forget Oklahoma

(in one sentence)

THREE Florida girls land in Tulsa and the cowboys are close (we can smell them), so we drive to McAlester in a speeding truck (leather seats burning while sitting on hunting trophy residue), and we go into the house where her stepmother is chain smoking on the front porch in a rickety plastic chair and foam flip flops (these are not Parisian cigarettes, these smell more rancid), and I eat Sonic for the 1st time (none of the waitresses ride on roller skates and none of the waitresses have teeth), we drive to Eufala and swim in Jellystone Park where the lake mud smells like Oklahoma cigarettes and meet a cowboy (told you we could smell them) named Troy, who swings by the RV that shakes every time we move in it with his party-light car, and says hop in, c’mon girls, and even if it’s 2AM we do, he doesn’t listen to Dolly Parton, he listens to Trippie Redd, and he drives us to Checotah (which is 80 miles away) where the Okies say the bull riding is questionable, something about skipping the rodeo, so we take country roads with bunnies back, and Chandler (the 2nd cowboy) swings out of the window and screams into the void space of Oklahoma while Benny (the 3rd cowboy) takes an orange traffic cone and sticks it on top of the car, and now we are in Oklahoma backroads with a traffic cone on top of our car, and this is NOT what Florida girls do, we don’t even have a wrestling team and Oklahoma in its entirety IS a wrestling team, so what I guess I’m trying to say is that I think everyone in Oklahoma must drink or smoke or do worse or is just a cowboy driving to Checotah because Florida girls want to see a rodeo.