In the car in the middle seat between my two buddies from college, I closed my eyes and paid attention. My shirt sleeves whipped against my arms. The wind blowing through the window came constant and then calmed when our speed slowed. The light through the sunroof made epileptsy-inducing, fast, flashy, shape-shifting mosaics on my inner eyelids. Speeding up again the wind somehow got into the back trunk and whirled around back there and then came rushing from behind me against the back of my neck, whooshing around my ears, slapping my cheeks. I opened my eyes right when Braxton was trying to take a funny picture, catching my sleeping. My weight leaned left when the car swerved around a rightward bend and then right around a leftward, swinging our way down the side of the mountain, the river rushing over the rocks down the slide to our right.