I glance at my speedometer: 110 mph, but that isn't so very fast after all, when you consider, and compared to other things and speeds, and there is no danger for I am invincible, I am flying, and it is very urgent that I get there, to the place I am going, I must arrive immediately, the space between places upsets me, the map in my mind sprawls out in all directions, I crest the top of a hill, or maybe a mountain, it's really quite high, the air is thin and cold, the vast and utter spill of the blue-black sky, like velvet, but spinning, crawling within and around itself, amazes me, the molecules of sky (but are there molecules of sky? Is it truly a thing in itself?) seething, and the sparks of stars are electric—I feel the hill must lead down into the deeper dark, for the road spins out before me like a snake's tongue unfurling and I see no side of the road, the road is suspended in the sky like a magical bridge over what must be a long divide, the mountains splitting apart from one another, withdrawing into themselves and leaving this wide swath of bottomless sky, and I turn off the lights and I fall through space, I fly, my wheels leave the road and I am free.
