one-lane highway

galwithglasses wants to know what our visions of human!Impala look like!:

( dreams in 180's )

We're going to a place in America we've never been, rolling west with the sun all trajectory, ray, the country bent an awkward angle, neck-wrenching, cloud-empty;skyway beneath. On the in-flight,on Discovery, muted, mechanics sweep a 1965 Chevy Impala, bleach-white, clean of her past,roll her factory-fine into sunup, shining. Roadtrip in the ether, then, exits in aerosphere occluded where we tumble out of it, blink up back-seated where the country tips burning into the desert,the sea; California, Mojave.