He liked the feeling of being on the road. He liked the freedom he experienced as he steered the car from place to place. He liked, most of all, the dullness of travel: how everything tended to look like everything else; how the hours passed by as the miles passed beneath him. He had never really ever felt rooted to any particular place or time and for that reason no place had ever really felt like a home to him. All the places were interchangeable in their ugliness and decay and smell. That's why he could never stop driving. He was pulled to a place that he had never seen or felt before, just as he was pushed away from the place where he was at any given moment. His destination was a place he'd never arrive at, so the experience of travel became what he had to settle for. He accepted that a long time ago, and kept on driving.

Stumble It!