I recently went to one of the country’s holy sites, which involved driving there from the city and back, so I had many hours and an interstate’s-eye view of the country. Since I stayed in a hotel, I had a nighttime journey, click by click, of the country’s televised mind.
Once the towers of the city, the cranes of the container port, and the signs to the airport shrink in the rear-view mirror, country proper begins. Sound fences and median strips try to pretty it up, like scarves and makeup on an aging actress, but these soon give way to the utilitarianism of the road, and its trucks and commuters. What do they see as they fare forward?
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