“Coming home this weekend! Bonfire at my house Saturday night!” This one simple text, sent to me by my neighbor and really good friend, Dylan, changed what was going to be a typical boring weekend at my house into a crazy adventure that none of us expected. Having bonfires at Dylan’s house was a highlight of my summer. They usually consisted of Dylan, Devin, who we jokingly call Kevin, another Devin, and myself. The four of us could never have just a small fire; it had to be a towering inferno. As I pulled down the gravel road leading up to my house, I could already see the fire. I had volunteered to bring a wagon full of cardboard and firewood to add to the fire. I pulled my big utility wagon a quarter of a mile from my house to Dylan’s. As I walked up the drive, Dylan, Kevin, and Devin had the stereo system set up with our usual country playlist blaring. Sitting around a bonfire listening to music and talking with friends is one thing that will never get old. While we were sitting around, Kevin decided to sit in my wagon, which somewhat resembles a black cage with four big rubber tires. As he climbed in, our favorite party song, “Sorry for Partyin’” by Thomas Rhett came on. At that point Kevin started to beg Devin and I to pull him up and down the road in the wagon, so for the sake of fun we went along with it. After nearly an hour of full speed pulling up and down the hill filled, pitted gravel road along our houses, we wanted to be a bit more reckless. We began to search Dylan’s tool filled garage for some sort of rope, and within ten minutes, I had found a tow strap that seemed perfect. We soon convinced Devin to fire up his beautiful white Mitsubishi Eclipse convertible. As I meticulously wrapped the strap around the frame of the car, I began to have an eerie feeling. Once the strap was securely fastened, Kevin climbed back into the wagon and listened to my explicit directions. “I will be in the car with D