Roads like these don’t wander, and you don’t wander on them, either. You fight with bleak purpose for release from the jumbled boroughs, and only just barely break away. They’re an escape to somewhere else, these thoroughfares, a means to some end over the horizon.
I prefer roads, I realize now, that are their own reward, and that encourage foolhardy, impulsive navigation; roads that challenge you to stay alert and alive.
I miss the way shitty strip malls splash pale light onto sooty asphalt. I crave the thrill of knowing that I'm off the map, speeding at 60mph through a convoluted web of manifest destiny. I want a space of my own to think, undisturbed by the squawk of train announcements or the indecipherable smells of strangers. I want to wind up and around mountains and hear the radio station switch over when I come down the other side.