let's go drive 'til morning comes. watch the sunrise and fill our souls up.
all the trips back and forth to radford and dc that seemed to get shorter and faster each time we made them. all the times we got lost together - especially that night in dc when i got lost, alone, at night, in a not-so-great area of the city and had to stop and ask for directions from a lady whose advice to me was, "if anyone tries to mess with you, just hit 'em with your car"; and that afternoon a few years back when i ended up in knoxville on my way to maryland; and that time i decided to try a new way home from work in northern virginia and found myself in downtown dc and then, as it turned out, in another not-so-great area. you were right there. remember the time we backed into my mom's van in the driveway? slammed into a questionable object in radford one night, leaving a huge hole and dent in your front-side? backed over and got stuck on that large "decorative" rock at the end of the driveway? got slammed from behind by a distracted, but friendly, driver? i remember many nights driving. just driving around, listening to music, going absolutely nowhere. you gave me a place to cry when i didn't want anyone else to see; a place to get my thoughts together; a place to get away to. you always get the same laugh. when i tell people how long i've had you, how many miles you've racked up, you always get the same laugh and they're always, despite the many jokes, amazed you're still hanging in there. i'll admit, i haven't always treated you the best. i've spilled things on you; i've run you into things; i've abandoned you at times. but, no matter what, you've never let me down and you continue to surprise me. thank you for a memorable 10 years, green machine.