What started out as a painful trip across lonesome I-94 in North Dakota turned into short-form poetry for the boys over at Esquire. Like to read? Of course you do. Read this.
Because how often do we sit for five hours, chewing beef jerky, watching the sun set? In silence? In dreams? It never happens anymore, except in Canadian hospital emergency rooms, but even then, there's something to watch other than the sunflowers turning west. Without having to make so much as a single lane change, I'd entered the closest thing to a runner's high that a fat man can feel. I had rolled clean into bliss, my mind as open as the fields around me. Squinting into orange, I thought about those things that we never let ourselves think about - those things that we actively defend ourselves against thinking about by having so much other stuff to look at and listen to.
God, we love good writing.