The Lost Highway
The radiator groaned like a wounded beast, spewing a plume of rusty defiance. Moonlight, pale and skeletal, sketched the silhouettes of abandoned petrol stations against the endless ribbon of highway.
My knuckles were white on the wheel, the steering column a crucifix in the desolate expanse. We were lost, of course, hopelessly so, but that was the point, wasn't it? Running from something, towards nothing, in this ramshackle chariot of mismatched memories. The map, crumpled on the passenger seat, was a testament to our folly, each dog-eared corner a failed attempt at escape. But escape, I realised with a bitter laugh, was just another dusty highway leading to the same desolate town. Every mile drove me further from myself and the sins I carried with me that I could never escape.