Lets Hit It

I miss the open highway I’m besotted with quick getaways. What other sensation can compare to pulling G’s with wind-whipped hair? When my foots on the throttle, I feel unstoppable. Faster, faster, no faster, that’s the rush I’m after. Where are we going? There’s just no knowing, but no matter where we roam, the GPS will get us home. One thing was guaranteed, the speed limit would be exceeded. I adored the wide open straightaways and the feeling of a racing-day at Marseilles. I remember in the Appalachian mountains the plunging, snake-like, winding canyons as the digital dashboard display passed ninety how my eschort, Charles, would glare at me. I’d let off - a little - and laugh, I mean, isn’t freedom the American dream? To hear the growl of a V8 motor, as it turns rural-roads into roller coasters.