So, are we there yet?
Shhh....you'll wake up Psion
Hell, it's been so long I don't even remember where we're going. I live in the back seat now and that's all I know. I don't even notice the stench any longer. I get my protein by rolling down the windows and catching bugs in my teeth and my starches from whatever has fallen under the driver's seat. Sure, sometimes Dennis throws back a stale Ho-Ho or Twinkie, and I seem to remember something called a chili-dog once, but mostly I just fend for myself on this trip.
My world is a rush of telephone poles and billboards rising from one horizon and disappearing into the other, punctuated by the regular beat of tires rolling over pavement spacers. "Are we there yet?" no longer has any meaning for me ... it's a nonsense inquiry that implies a fantasy destination and a long-forgotten origin.