The road again. The road, like an obsession. The same one, always. The night swallows the road which in turn swallows we. Let it Bleed by the Stones in the car, the volume pushed to the max. Surrender to the night… On the deserted road tight turns as sharp as Keith Richards’ riffs. A storm is threatening my very life tonight. The road pulses to the rhythm of congas, and if I don’t get some shelter now, I’m gonna fade away. It’s not the speed, the speed does not count: the journey is stationary, it is about self-abnegation. We can’t always get what we want, but sometimes we might just get what we need. A shiver. At night. On the deserted road. Like an obsession.