The Young And Rich

The jolly pair trotted ahead, bumping elbows, completely engrossed in each other. He said something and she threw her head back laughing a brilliant clear laugh, white neck exposed to the night. I jogged behind rather pathetically.
They paused between his big black Mercedes and my small grey Honda.
"It's your pick." He turned to her proudly, reveling in the opportunity to show off the car. Her eyes were fixed upon the glorious dark vehicle. My heart sank.
She had all but answered with her obvious enthusiasm when an internal thought suddenly hindered her.
"This is illegal, isn't it..."
The laughter stopped. Silence.
We stood there awkwardly, trying to think up some form of justification for what we were about to do. The night grew tight around us. I desperately wanted to say something clever, save the night, get her in my car.
He beat me to it.
Something ridiculously coy and enticing - I didn't quite hear it - but the next thing I knew, he was opening the door and her lithe figure disappeared inside his domain. I stood there watching miserably.
Walking around to the driver's side of the car, his eyes met mine with a symphony of triumph.
"Meet us at the field." He said, not meaning a word of it.
I nodded. Feeling rather disheartened and rotten, I retreated to my small car and headed back home. They wouldn't notice my absence. They vanished into the deep city night under an illusion of exhilaration and vague teenage passion.
I never saw them again.
After that night, and crush of realization sunk into me and has remained there ever since: Money can hide the immorality of some but nothing can hide from God.