Mom's sitting in the back because her legs are so much shorter than mine now, and I've got my headphones on, listening to Rage Against the Machine, to take my mind off it, but it's not working. The way Dad is driving is really pissing me off. The way he puts his foot on the gas and pumps it a little, just to get his speed up to fifty-five, and then takes his foot off the gas as soon as he gets there. Then when the car drops down to like forty-eight, he gives it just enough gas to make the needle kiss fifty-five again. If he really wants to be stuck at fifty-five, why doesn't he just put on the fucking cruise control? I mean seriously, I'm getting carsick. We take the turn down toward the lake, and I get that feeling in my stomach I used to get when I was little, or maybe I'm just hungover. The lake is still here. We drive past all the old landmarks. They tore down that old barn that was sinking into the earth, and it looks like they're building a house where it used to be. They repainted the Wirth mansion, but they used this really ugly light green paint on the trim.
