After hours of speeding through nothingness, color seared my eyes: exotic fruits, plastic-and-concrete flora glowing vibrant, beckoning to me—McDonald’s, Burger King, BP, Shell—strange poisonous pylons.

Tempted by the siren song, my steed groaned with thirst, but I kicked it on.

The bright lights vanished.

Back to nowhere, the eternal road.

Tim Boiteau writes in Michigan. He is an Editor at Every Day Fiction, a Writer of the Future winner, and the author of two novels, with a third forthcoming. See more at timboiteau.wordpress.com.