I left when everyone else left. I planned on going home. I didn’t go home though. I drove past my driveway. I drove to the end of my street and turned onto another street. I drove down that street and onto another. I just kept driving. The radio was playing good music, a broadcast from a club near Detroit I believe. I made a couple of stops. I stopped at a local bar. I drove around the parking lot, looking for what might be a familiar car. I don’t know if I would have gone in even if I had suspected someone I knew was in there. I stopped at the public library, leaned back, listened to the music, and remembered. I wanted to stop for food, but everything was closed. I really didn’t want to stop driving. I almost drove right past my driveway again. I almost got on the expressway. I don’t know where I would have gone. I didn’t have anywhere to go. I just wanted to be away. Away from everything. It felt nice. It was relaxing. I had time to think. Time to reflect. Time to remember. Time to move forward. I wish I could feel like that for days. Or weeks. But now I sit here. I sit here in the same chair, in front of the same computer, in the same room, thinking about the same things. I definitely didn’t make it very far, at least not far enough. I’ll make it though. I will make it.
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