Summer Ride
There’s a specific quality to summer rides—the heat radiating off the asphalt, the way the air tastes like dust and cut grass even on the freeway. You’re moving through it all at speed, window down, some song on repeat that you’ll remember for years not because it was great but because it was there. The landscape blurs into a general impression of green and sky. Your arm rests on the door. You’re not thinking about anything in particular, which is maybe the whole point. By evening you’re somewhere else, and the day has that quality of small adventure—nothing actually happened, but you got there however you wanted, and the getting was the thing.