Sometimes, meaning times like this, she just wanted to drive. Where was unimportant. Who had a destination in mind anyway? There was only forward. Away. Maybe toward something unknown.
It’s not like she was some amazing driver or had some amazing car or whatever, but she loved the feeling of progress. Stillness was fine sometimes, but motion and getting there and the wind and a bit of blur could help burn off whatever might be hanging on and dragging down.
It wasn’t necessarily a logical thing. But this was America. Not to say there was no logic, but to confirm the love of the open road. As a country significantly reliant upon its citizens owning or renting or otherwise getting about in cars in order to make it from one place to another, there was no need to justify this need for -- if not speed, at least movement.
Welcome Interstate Managers! came to her mind. What’s that? Modest Mouse, maybe? Anyway, an album. No -- Fountains of Wayne. Duh.
Thank you, gas stations of America!
Thank you, highway system!
Gratitude always helped, when it was possible to muster.
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