out on the grey roads, fields only a few miles from town. It feels good to pick up speed, I might even break orbit from the ceaseless radio patter of the can’t stay/can’t leave commentariat, with their touted best outcomes of isolation oblivion or a return to what half the nation rejected. I’m not certain there’s any going back after 18 months of torment. We’ve chained the past and mastered the present, but that only serves to make the unshackled future more terrifying.
