She’s leaving home, getting out of the city, to clear her head, searching for a sky wider than her imagination. Restless, she wants to start, to say aloud what’s only been in her head, leaving all the hours she has known, each moment, on the side of the road. Cars moving slowly, and she moves so fast, a superstar. She says the best things are daydreamers, wishful stars, bends or curves, summersaults and cut grass, open windows and breezy freeways. Once, she believed the myth that she couldn’t be anywhere else. Letting go of evidence, discarding words to listen to daylight, she drives to places alone listening to the radio, obliterating everything to discover the world is not the shape of her window.