Im not just driving Im slicing through 75 kilometers of asphalt, the wind a whisper against my skin, the road stretching like a ribbon under a sky thats all gray and secret. The worlds quiet here, just the hum of tires and the distant sigh of trees. Im chasing something not a destination, but the feeling of speed, of solitude, of being a ghost on a highway that doesnt care whos behind the wheel. The cars ahead are just dots in the story Im writing. Im not racing, Im flowing. And thats the only kind of journey that leaves you breathless and barely touched by the road.

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