The Soundtrack

"There's something happenin' here, what it is ain't exactly clear."
As I stay in lockstep with the stop-and-go traffic down the broad commercial strip leading to the interstate, Buffalo Springfield plays poignantly in the background. Here I am, leaving the breakneck pace of my college lifestyle behind, and with it, the remains of yet another failed relationship. It is time for me to return home, to see friends and family on this holiday of Giving Thanks. Between the music and the gentle vibration of tires on the highway, you are almost lulled into believing that this long, strange tip is mostly out of your control.

"I'm feeling rough, I'm feeling raw in the time of my life."
Here I stand, facing oblivion. A strange gray film had settled down in front of me, blotting out the landscape ahead. I soon penetrated this weird fog, continuing my journey of hopping from one small town to the next. I could keep going down the interstate, surrounded by nothingness on either side, but I prefer the backroads. There is something about traveling through the various hamlets, with their close-knit daily lives laid bare for all passers-by to see.

"I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are."
I'm sitting in my car in front of a shopping mall, with the wind whistling about. This place is like a blown-up version of home, with rural community being supplanted by larger and larger commercial developments. I contemplate calling her. Maybe after dinner.

"It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one."
As Creedence tears into the opening chords of "Fortunate Son", I glide through the farmland surrounding yet another village. I see decaying farm equipment sitting beside rusting buildings. The closer and closer I get to home, the more everything changes from suburban corporate concrete to the collapsing rural setting I'm more familiar with.