I used to whisper stories to the asphalt, wanting to be anywhere but the city I lived in. Passing overhead green signs became routine to me, I saw them more than birds swooping across civilian streets. I would drive until I felt at home-- no wonder I still feel unsettled. I am a modern nomad. A human vagabond. As I drove, counting time in white lines passing and days in rearview mirror sunsets I'd beg to the roads, "Find a life for me, freeway."