Back when I was living in a city, sometimes when I couldn’t sleep at night I’d walk down to the garage, get my car (which I rarely needed in day to day life, because, city) and do a lap of the outer ring road. Took me maybe 40 minutes, but it was just so serene. On and off ramps empty, you’d encounter a taxi at the lights, some overnight couriers, sometimes a few tuners racing on the two lane highways. Everything was in a flow, car hummed along at 2000rpm, shadows of the streetlights pulsing across the dashboard, some electronica bass thumping in the depths of the trunk. Leaving the city lights behind for the darker sections of the ring outside the suburbs, then taking a certain bridge over a little ridge and there she laid, spread out across the valley with her arteries glowing orange and the dark mountain ranges in the background. Taking my usual exit, turning right twice, carefully balancing the lowered Audi over the unrelentingly steep curb of our apartment complex and then the blinding neon light when I hit the door opener for the garage entrance. Stepping out of the car back in the garage, exhaust crackling, my steps echoing, those were moments when everything was alright with the world. Always slept well after that.

I get it. I love the transitional state of being between here and there, all by myself in a linear tunnel of what was a few moments ago and what is going to happen next, free to watch the world go by with no foreseeable potpourri of possibilities until I arrive. Then we’ll see. Until then, I’m driving.