The friend goes west for a working road trip through the South. He asks for a song, a soundtrack, a melody to carry their wheels across America; I am nothing but thrilled to oblige. The lazy Saturday morning melts away, until I spill out onto a hundred thousand miles of American roads, wheels rolling, the world at your feet.
Do you remember the boiled peanuts of Alabama road stands? The way the air was warm and wet like a perpetual shroud, the way the highway lay dark and endless ahead of us, with nothing but that white line guiding our adventure. How we clung to the westbound 84, always near, always a comfort. A bluegrass beat carried us across state lines, dreams of America simmered along the sides of the road, we had nothing to stop us until the coast, and we didn't rest till we reached it.
In me beats an American heart. In my veins, in my lungs, in my soul, that dream of what unknown adventure America promises flows undisturbed by realities of the outside world. I am far away now, I have been far away before.
Restless hearts always come home, in the end.
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