The asphalt has its own rhythm. You learn to read it like a heartbeat. A slight vibration tells you the tire is tired; a change in the wind tells you a storm is coming over the mountains. They call me the driver because that’s the only part of me they see: hands at ten and two, eyes fixed on the horizon.
A sense of belonging to the movement rather than the destination. Soferul
Being the master of the vehicle while remaining unnoticed by the passengers. The asphalt has its own rhythm
