From the Passenger Seat
The road is racing beneath me.
All of thelines that mark the center of the road
are blurring together.
I search forthe different license plates.
One from Nevada. Utah.
Itmakes the U.S. seem so small.
It's amazing how similar the states are.
Wekeep passing vast, lush vineyards,
While Michael Stanley defines to us themeaning of highway life.
"Too few stop to pass the time, or so itgoes."
We've passed Lake Erie now.
On the very edge of the horizon wasa barge.
It was like something out of a bad children's coloring book.
I'manxious about driving.
Sometimes I people-watch from my backseatwindow.
Other times, I just let my eyes dart to whatever pulls theirattention.
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