I recognise the feeling instantly. That perfect cool you only get when you’re deliberately hurtling through time and space at 90 feet per second.
It’s a small, comfortable pocket of order in a chaotic universe.
White noise of the stranger’s transmissions drowns out your breathing, and your eyes… your eyes are seeing more than your forefathers would have ever thought possible.
Your peripheral focus won’t calibrate.
You hear the rumbles, but you don’t feel them. And you don’t look. A longing gaze at times like this can be suicide.
Occasional controlled movements punctuate your stillness.
Tether your mind. It can never wander so far that you forget you’re not alone.
When he told you paranoia is what keeps you alive, he was right.
You scan the horizon. You’re surrounded. Wiggle your fingers. Just keep moving. Bite your lip. Just keep moving.
The longer you go, the weaker you get. You know this can’t last forever, you have to slow down. You have to stop.
And that’s fine, you’ve done it hundreds of times before.
But it’s not jut you that you have to worry about. Lackadaisical. Lunatics. The just plain unlucky. They’re out there.
And you’re all on this trip together.
Driving, it’s a hell of a drug.