By the time you reach Arizona, you’ll probably smell like a mix of Burger King, coffee, peanut butter crackers, and sweat. You’ll have your hair tied at the top of your head, your makeup rubbed off, and your two-day old clothes stuck to your body.
This is going to sound self-congratulatory, but I think I deserve a pat on the back for having a superior vehicular aptitude.
Americans drive a lot. In fact, we drive 2.9 trillion miles a year on average. To put this astronomical number into perspective, that’s equal to over 320 round trips to Pluto!
Not your typical fender-bender.
I eat out of paper bags and Styrofoam containers.
I walked slowly around the house and realized what that noise was.
“I’m a really good driver,” says every driver ever.
Los Angeles vs. New York is a rivalry as classic as Betty vs. Veronica, as old as the Montagues vs. the Capulets. But really, they aren’t comparable. Los Angeles is its own unique being; a place that I have grown to love.
“Jeez, Red, you got a lotta rules,” she laughed, but there was tension in her voice now, something I hadn’t heard back at the rest stop.