When you pull out of the driveway at midnight, the traffic lights blinking yellow and red, and watch your odometer flip over that first mile, you steal a kiss and a smile from your fiancée, your navigator, and drum your fingers excitedly on the soft vinyl of your steering wheel. The freeway is yours and yours alone, and as you speed over the broken painted lines that divide the lanes, you imagine yourself as Pac Man, furiously pursuing dot after dot.
When you make a mental note to add an hour to the time glowing dimly from your dashboard, you realize for the first time that XM really does work everywhere. You smirk at the novelty of it as you pass signs listing cities like Louisville, Lexington, and Charleston that feel so much more real to you now than they ever did as bold words on a map.
When you choke down your third can of Amp and clink the empty container against the others beneath your seat, sunlight creeps back into your periphery. The towering mountains of West Virginia slowly emerge from the fog, and as you struggle to steer through them at 80 miles per hour, the smoky aroma of brake dust filling the air, driving feels just like you imagined it would when you were a kid.
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