I recognize that I might be hallucinating as I become one with the universe. There is no past. There is no present. Only the immediately approaching Exit — that's Ausfahrt in German — off of the B23 stretch of the motorway.
93 mph: As I decelerate, relief washes over me like an awesome wave. There is no more war. Wolf Blitzer has found the lost Malaysian flight. My girlfriend is no longer mad at me for staying out a bit too late last Thursday. All is right in the world as I flick on my right turn signal to ausfahrt the B23.
70 mph: Exiting now, I feel like I'm the fat kid on the soccer team again. Even though I'm taking a turn at 70 mph, I seem to be standing still.
18 mph: Slowing for stoplight. I try to determine how many people have masturbated while driving, and guestimate that the number has to be north of 100,000 by now, based on a McKinsey application question I once clicked on Reddit.
0 mph: Sitting at stoplight. I quickly contemplate if what I had for lunch is reflected in the current taste in my mouth. Hmm, schnitzel. Delicious.
10 mph: Pulling into Audi's equivalent of the Roman Colosseum (appropriately named the Audi Forum), I look down at my hands, my right foot and my left, and realize that after 150 mph on the autobahn, I will never be the same again.