TARGA COACHELLA

THE NIGHT IS STILL YOUNG.

SHE IS ALREADY A LITTLE FURTHER ALONG.

The first vodka martini has done its job. Inside the Mid-Century house, he is still looking for his jacket and the key.

She is already in the Targa.

Palm Springs. Early evening. Desert light. The car still dusty from the day.

She is already inside the evening — looking forward to the music, the people and whatever else may come.

TARGA COACHELLA is that brief electric moment before the night takes over.

The engine is still off.

The anticipation isn’t.