Center your love

I’m used to reading about other people having to drive for at least an hour or more in the mornings to get to work. I’m not used to actually doing it until today, and goddamn I do not recommend it. It wasn’t the coffee A. sent me off with, or the bearable reverse-commute vibe along the first few miles. It was that horrifying stretch of Interstate 880. The only two things that made it bearable were Machinedrum’s “Vapor City” all the way down and Yuna’s “Rouge” coming back up, and the two uncanny little mapping alerts along the way about route shortcuts. Yes, I’ll gladly shave fifteen minutes off my arrival time, and no, I don’t want to continue playing dodge ’em with wide-load big-rigs and high-end luxury cars with single-entendre custom license plates, thank you very much.

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