(...) No one ever told me how large Kansas is. Kansas sounds like a tiny state at the end of the world with a few wheat fields, hometown of Superman. But it’s more. Kansas is a twelve-hour drive into eternity. By the way: I am driving straight through the U.S., east coast to west coast. I left a few days ago and now Kansas is on my route. On a road trip, every day goes the same way. Stand up, drink a coffee in the motel on the highway, drive away, breakfast then lunch in some burger joint or another, continue to drive, drive, drive,  another burger and fries, look for a motel, then good night. There’s nothing out here. And in Kansas there’s even a lot less than that. No life, no change, no people. The entire twelve hours, the landscape stays the same. It’s as though someone had stuck a huge picture in front of my windshield with only the same endless straight line dividing a huge green field. The street heads to the horizon, and then hours later when I reach the horizon, it keeps on going in another endless straight line.  Sisyphus knows what I mean. Time comes undone, everything comes undone. I grab on tight to the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, just to feel something. Other than a few farmers, it seems like no one lives here. Darkness falls. They play a lot of Springsteen and Dylan on the radio. I get off the Interstate and stop suddenly on a country road; huge fields of rye surround me. Like always when I see rye, I have to think of J.D. Salinger, the thought occurs to me automatically, every time. Meanwhile, the chirping of the crickets drowns out the music. Above me is the kitschiest starry sky that you could ever imagine. The next person is probably miles away.  I close my eyes and think of the roar of New York, where I started out from a week ago. Or the noise of Chicago. Then I open my eyes again. Suddenly I like being out here. The lonesomeness and calm; crickets and Dylan and Springsteen, and the crystal clear sky at night. At this moment, I’m not missing anything. Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose. I smoke a peaceful cigarette, maybe two, then flick the butt away and climb into the car.