You hear their engines roaring on

But when you get to the porch they're gone

On the wind, so Mary climb in... and the wailing nostalgia of "Backstreets," perhaps the album's best song, intersects universal lost childhood:

Remember all the movies, Terry

We'd go to see

Trying to learn to walk like the heroes

We thought we had to be

Well after all this time

To find we're just like all the rest

Stranded in the park

And forced to confess

To hiding on the backstreets...

Running on the backstreets

Terry, you swore we'd live forever

Taking it on them backstreets together...

But Bruce Springsteen seems to be leaving the backstreets behind. His arrangements have less and less of the heat and roar of the pits in them. He's smoothing out his music and he's headed out on the turnpike. And out on the turnpike, neither the screeches not the fumes are quite so noticeable. AM radio takes over on the turnpike.