The Ride

You go up and you go down. Your wheels spin as you speed down the highway. You know that you are driving fast, but you don't seem to be nearing your destination. Dead trees and dead grass, faded signs and mile markers, distant clouds against a solemn grey sky, they all look the same with every minute that passes. The dead branches are reaching out to be remembered. How many have passed by his outstretched arms? How many have acknowledged his existence?

The AC is too cold but the air is muggy without it. You shuffle positions when a limb starts to fall asleep. You listen to the music that the driver prefers at the volume the driver prefers. Your stomach grumbles but you are surrounded by a wide span of empty fields of grazing cattle. Extra rare beef sushi, anyone?

You yawn. You yawn again. Stop yawning. It's still early. The lack of adequate sleep and the long day has caught up with you. Yet sleep is still far away. 

For now you sit back and you think fondly of home.