Roads. Where we're going...

My car is like a time machine. Sit inside and be transported to the land of Rock Radio '84, Summer Radio '97, and the greatest mix tape to ever be jammed down in that little area on the door that should have the maps, yes I do mean- I can streak for miles and miles.

I sit in my car, the car in which I took my driver's test, the car in which I took my prom date, the car which canvassed the Midwest on a paintbrush called I-70, and I travel the highways and byways of now. Only with the tapes, and the growing smells, it starts to feel like another time. A moldier, oldier time. A time when the end of high school was closer than the ten year reunion.

My car is a time machine.

Yesterday, I traveled to the future. Despite my best efforts to cling to the moldy and the oldy, I went to the future. I know this because in the future gas prices are $3.19 per gallon.

The future looks grim.