“In the back of your car I feel like I have traveled nowhere.”

“It left me with an unpleasant feeling as if I had traveled and gone nowhere, and the whole journey was reduced to this impression of pointlessness.”

“You have to treat your car with love. And I don’t mean love of an object. You see, that’s just wrong. That’s materialism. You have to love your car like it’s sentient being, like it can love you back. Now, that’s some deep-down agape love.”

“Here I was at the end of America...no more land...and nowhere was nowhere to go but back”

“You discover how confounding the world is when you try to draw it. You look at a car, and you try to see its car-ness, and you’re like an immigrant to your own world. You don’t have to travel to encounter weirdness. You wake up to it.”

“But for the most part, magic tends to end in explosions, or tears, or with you flat on your back in the middle of nowhere, feeling like a tiny dwarf is mining for diamonds inside your head. Okay, so maybe that last bit was just me.”