It’s only ten minutes that later she’s flying across the highway, rain coming out of the dark straight towards her, turning the windshield into an old screensaver. She quickly puts another tape in the player, not bothering to look at the road. It’s a strange thing, she thinks, this constant search for stimulation. As if she can’t trust her brain to entertain her.
Except it’s not music, it’s a children’s story. A kindly English female voice talking. A bell-chime to tell you when to turn the page. She turns the steering wheel only when she feels she needs to. She lets the story overtake her. A fairytale. Good and evil, right and wrong. She keeps on driving, into the night
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