Street to Razor Peak
There's a maze in Dunville: layers of asphalt overpasses that never touch ground. The roads twist and dip around each other, yet, I cannot remember a single stop. Dunville has no buildings. Home might as well be your car, cause you won't leave it... maybe ever.
I keep getting stuck on one corner. It's a lame game. Left at the highest T, curve round to the main drag and finally travel to the exit. Deep down, I keep believing it's that easy. Yet, I'm always at the T or curving round, nearing the main drag... never reaching it. Someday I'll exit. If I can just imagine it, I'll reach the bridge.
I know the last steps. There's a wall of toll booths, a dozen or so. It's simple from there. You dive down the vaginal two-lane underpass, wind through the network of pillars. And, from the concrete forest, you'll finally see the sky. Well, I'm pretty sure there's sky beyond the mist.
God, to be on the bridge again, to gaze upon the supports towering overhead. I know I've been there. I've been at the toll on bridge's end. The toll is a gateway to the tunnel. Twenty lanes bored out of so much earth. It's short and wide and the very last passage to the wilderness.
Then there's no more traveling. You've arrived at Razorpeak. Your car is now free range. Driving for so long it has matured with gravity. I can see the SUVs lumbering up the cliffs like spiders. There's no ground below. It's all vertical now. That's okay. My car, having traversed the Dunville labyrinth, can now dance among the jagged rocks of Razorpeak.