this isn't the interstate man, it's the hot highway branding insanity in to us. the wind's cold and, yeah, it's getting mean, but the sun ain't giving up yet and we'll keep pace until we all give up and collapse in to a truck stop. we'll be eating peanuts on a concrete wall, the three of us. i remember when i was a little kid and the cruddy suspension rocked me to sleep in the back, all twisted up in the seatbelts and resting on my mom's sweater. how did we grow up so fast? did you ever imagine we'd be cranking this junk bucket through this suburban wasteland, loving the rush of the air and washing bugs off the windshield? i never thought it'd be like this, man. i thought when you grew up you and your buddies always knew what you were doing, and here we are, lost as hell and still staring at the sun, screw all the warnings, we're ready to go blind.