The Open Road, by Jim Routhier

Springtime’s sweet smells waft through the open windows.

The dry, copper-like taste of anticipation in my mouth,

The revving and over-revving of the engine, loud in my ears.

The gnashing and grinding of the gears reverberate through the gearshift, racing up my arm like an electric charge.

The clutch engages; the car lurches forward, locking the seatbelt against my chest.

We move. The seemingly endless open road lies before me.