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52 This Darknight Speed Sometimes I feel about love like driving places at darknight speed with the radio on, doing what that saxophone was barking in the bar: “better yet, better yet, better get in a car!” Sometimes I forget simple words like rapture for this animal joy, this sense of being up to speed and merging from a ramp, knowing the driver in the mirror is already adjusting to meet me and wants it to go smooth, wants me to have my turn, not break acceleration or miss a beat, wants to meet and make a dance of it at such a speed, if you can imagine, at such a speed that eyes tear from wind blowing music out the windows. I always believe I could start pacing with somebody on a long highway, playing all the fast songs and looking at the truck stops for that one car 53 because sometimes I’m lonely or I need to feel alive or I just like being on the road in a car, in a marvelous, monstrous killer machine that fills a human body crazy high on landscape flying by the windows— just a blur, just a shot of speed. I always believe I could get myself in somebody’s eyes wide and interstate-steady, just flat out speeding along and scanning the road ahead, wanting to drive like that forever and if I could keep it up, god, if I could keep that up I’d go absolutely right straight crazy to heaven ...

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