"Bring a towel; I haven't scotchguarded the seats."

You know, it's amazing how private a space the inside of a car becomes when you're on the freeway. A place to sing out loud, talk to yourself, think your deepest thoughts. Whatever.

A friend in college once called it a personal snowglobe. A little universe, inhabitants: You, and maybe the person riding shotgun.

It's easy to get lost in there, if all you really focus on is your own globe's contents.

But you've got to ask yourself:

All those other universes, rocketing down the pike at 65 mph...What do you miss by not taking the opportunity to look up, look in as they pass?

All manner of thing could be passing you by, and you'd never even know.

I've decided: Driving with the windows down is nicer when you can feel the air across more of your skin than just your face. And this city is a lot prettier when viewed through an endorphine haze.