Its not even noon yet, but the sun is thrashing down on the open water splayed out in front in front of me, making it sparkle and gleam, catching on the rearview mirror, and making me glad I wore sunglasses.

The windows are rolled down and Gary Numan’s We Are Glass is appropriately blasting in the speakers. I smell like dead fish, and I’m driving in a red bikini and a stolen pair of shorts. Actually, the car is sort of stolen too, but I’m pretty sure they’ll thank me later on.

The road stretches on forever, or so it seems, twisting its way along the coast, through half dead towns, all the way to San Francisco. To me, this is where everything begins and ends, right here, on this road.

This is the road I grew up on, the road where I first discovered Hendrix and Joplin, smoked my first joint, made love where road meets earth, meets water.

I dream about this road. It haunts me.

Today, we are one, remembering, preserving. Loving.

Its the last time we share a ride.