Takin’ The Slow Ride

A cotton sky, an old Ford, a glass sticky with soda, and a road that's in no hurry to get anywhere. Everything here is painted slowly: the smell of honeysuckle from the ditch, the ‘Rock City’ sign on the crooked barn, the peaches at the roadside petrol station. Time stretches out like chewing gum under a heel, and even the radio plays the right chords - the ones that are best for driving thirty miles an hour with no hurry. The world rushes by, but here it seems to have taken a holiday.