I check the gauges, make sure the gas tank is full
Roll the windows down, flip the radio on, and
pull out of the driveway.
There's nothing like freedom to get you
smiling. Nothing like a
clear autumn day, a car, fresh air and sun.
And it's Sunday, what more could I ask for?
Destination: Nowhere in particular.
I don't know where I am, and I don't really
care. It's terrific. I feel like I can keep
moving and never
come back, days upon days of highway to highway
radio surfing, miles of steelgrey freedom
unfurling and streaming away.
I do this every
now and then, whenever I'm home, can get Mom's car,
get away. Because I always need to get away. The
keys, a tape, and me lugging my thoughts out to
a broader range of territory. The random turns,
winding roads, the twisting convolutions of aimless
The sheer joy of randomness and new
sights; the completeness of no destination and
wheels and life.