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March 26, 2003:

Green hills, pale blue sky, white highway, red dusklight lighting contrails like blood, or fire. Road sign says, 65 MPH Speed Limit. We can do better than that.

Where?

Wanderlust, craving, hunger for motion, the gentle rocking of an automobile at high speed buffeted by strong wind. Sunset. The lonely love song sung by rubber tires calling to the asphalt left behind, left and trailing behind, forever behind.

Take me there so that I can leave you, forever trailing behind.

Doesn't matter. It's all better than here.

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