In the time before Red Bull my Dad whose sorrow every bleeding day now begets would load up his shitty car with shitty college stuff and make the drive from Cranberry to Chicago with frequent stops for the purpose of forty winks and to stretch his tired appendages and to let his one time only one way only traveling partners with whom he split the cost of gasoline and sandwiches find a way to use the rest stop rest rooms quietly before re-entering Route 80 by way of sad little ramps and rolling on until he reached the campus of the U of Chicago after having braved the Nairobi 500 where they all drive on sparking rims the wrong way, but I had Red Bull and made it without stopping to eat or sleep for 51 hours from PA to CA and that's with sixteen hours through a Nebraska blizzard. Things I learned on this trip: (1) At high altitudes like the Rockies, cars do weird things. (2) Nebraska sucks and can go to hell. (3) Pepperidge Farm Goldfish turn my shit orange.
The point is that I miss my Dad.