We were nearing home now, I could see it, feel it even. I could close my eyes and I'd still know that from here we turn left, then ahead on the oncoming junction we take a hard right, and from there it was just a straight drive home.
Landmarks whizzed by us, each one acting as its own personal indicator of how long more before we reached.
That stray picket fence lodged in the dirt to the side, still broken by the looks of it, and the weeds surrounding it had only grown more in abundance since my absence. I felt the truck veer slightly, and that's when I knew we passed that pothole in the middle of the road… yep, there it still was, as deep and large as I remembered… been there for years, folk always said it'd get filled someday, supposed today still wasn't that day, it seems.