Highways are neither home nor destination - the open road is a liminal space. The uncanny in-between where rules are blurry, directions are dubious, and help is always just a little too far or too late.
Nowhere and everywhere at once - we leave a place yet are in a limbo of arriving where we're headed. Somebody else chooses the route, the speed, the stops.
A wrong turn, a broken-down engine, or the wrong stranger at the wrong gas station, and that sense of liberation curdles into something creepy and predatory.
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| horror hell ride |
In real life, we usually keep our thrills controlled. We daydream about the good version of the road trip fantasy - gliding down flawless asphalt in something impossibly sleek and entirely dependable.
