My happy place is a parking lot. I'm driving my Mom's old Nissan with the windows rolled down and the air is crisp, winter-like. There's nothing around me except acres of tarmac. There's also a funny-looking mountain jutting out in the backdrop just to remind me where the road ends and where the rest of the Universe begins. All I have to do here is drive and make sure that I reach the foot of the mountain before the cosmos align, after which I will become a tiny blip in Earth's history. My foot on the gas, I giddily steer.
I've been a frequent driver lately; with friends leaving the country soon, my University dragging me into the mud and a dating life brought to a complete standstill, I can't think of any other means of escape.
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