I felt as if I were Kerouac. The snow had been falling for some time and the trees were heavy with frost. It was beautiful. My head hurt a little, from too many drinks and an excess of cigarette and marijuana smoke the night before. She rode next to me and they were in the back. She wasn't talking much, not feeling all to well. It showed in her face. It didn't have that charm, or the shine it usually does. For some reason it made me sad. Not the fact that she felt ill, but the fact that there was nothing I could do about it.
It was a back road this time. One I had only taken once before. The sky was grey with snow, the air was cold, and the hills rolled more than usual. About the time I was ready to pull over and puke, there was the most beuatiful thing. The road turned slightly to the left and ahead was a hill. At the bottom, a train chugged by. Smoke sputtered above and blended into the grey sky. The backdrop was enormous bluffs and for a moment, I felt like Kerouac. On the road. And for that second, I knew everything was going to be alright.