The road ahead
The road ahead of me is out of sight. I strain to see, but make out nothing but contours. It might make a hard left, or a right, or just fall out from under me – there is no one to ask, because no one can tell.
The road ahead of me is out of sight. I strain to see, but make out nothing but contours. It might make a hard left, or a right, or just fall out from under me – there is no one to ask, because no one can tell.