HEAVEN DOES NOT EXIST, but there is a Hell, and I am in it, on it — The Highway, the non–stop traveling to a destination that never arrives, the terribly greasy fare of the Stuckey’s dotting the off–ramps every fifty miles, and although demons do not cavort with pitchforks in geothermal caverns spitting flames, the heat oppresses, the air conditioner inoperative, summer always — global warming complete ; must get there today, the impetus seems implanted, the kids tire, the wife complains, the car smokes — vacation sucks, the regimentation, the time line : and miles to go before I sleep ⸻ miles and miles and miles .