The days float like dreams. That's all I got.
Eastern Tennessee is a bit like Heaven. You gotta see firsthand some of these mountain scenes to believe they exist. It all looks perfect, framed in a windshield. You can't let your reality become the celluloid glass. There can be no bystanders, no passive observers. I am the clenched fists on the steering wheel, the whining transmission grinding the four black tires. I am the road ahead and the sky above and the rearview mirror's lonely, wistful kiss to the disappearing horizon.
Matt splurged and got us a motel room tonight. I feel like undeserving royalty, a cheat, a half-assed trespasser, a thief in a cheap little mansion with nothing to steal. Everything's replaceable. Just another termite in the honeycomb.