Missed Exit- Day 2

The highway, full of guilt of the knowledge of having spent so much blood to create such a seamless surface, was middle-aged. The curves with which it enticed all its passengers were broad and fiery, but soft, not solid, gravitational. It sometimes had mood-swings, leaving cars crumpled and wrecked and glass gleaming on its steaming cement patina. It was inflexible and tyrannical and adult. Somehow though, despite its age, it claimed innocence, as it had not been open and available for travel for more than a month. Inexperienced, like a virginal adolescent, this monstrous block of concrete which had been built to withstand the dreams and goals of an entire globe, wanted to crumble under the pressure. Ineptitude mixed with desperation just like the slop that was churned into cement, initials of young lovers peppering its skin.

The highway was uncertain of where its visitors were going, and because it did not know the goal, it could not help to achieve anything. Whatever adventure any person hoped to be enraptured by on this highway was limited by the stout physicality of that which their hopes rested upon. This middle-aged, voluptuous spinster was mother and vixen simultaneously. No one could get off once they had raced onto its gleaming black spine. No one would want to. The maddening desire of transport mixed with the insanity of blind movement was enough to create horrific accidents in broad daylight.

Needless to say, the nights were much longer, more treacherous, and more intoxicating. Travelling by moonlight under a watchful, velveteen sky, was romantic, sexual, and extremely violent. The velocity at which metal and glass moved seemed to be heightened because of the lack of light. Vehicles, clinging to the flesh of the highway by rubber and gravity and friction alone, would careen against one another only to be disappointed when metal did not hit metal, bone did not brush bone.

Many people wished to travel by night only because of the obsession with the way physics seemed to misbehave. The highway was coquettish and oftentimes placed false comfort into the hearts of the passengers, calming their senses with the sounds of whirring air between tires and soft, rhythmic stones rubbing against one another. These souls often did not last until daylight, because they would sometimes succumb to the desire to sleep, leaving them unconscious when they reeled off the road into an abyss of sea or rock. When the Sun would break open the day, the road was often pink with muscle and flesh, smoke could be sensed with the eyes and nose for many kilometers, and seagulls would circle overhead, bereft with sorrow and ready to pounce.