Time is a vehicle which propels one through fate as the driver morphs, slowly, during their journey. Out in front of the windshield is the future, and behind the taillights, the vehicle leaves in its wake: history. This adventure of a lifetime is of an unknown magnitude and is attempted without a clear and accurate map in the glovebox. The road can be millions of miles long or it can end briefly as the individual enters into a sunlit world for less than a day. No one knows. In the world of an experienced driver, who has made many mistakes and has inadvertently or intentionally cut off innocent people they encounter, their skills in life improve somewhat with age. Maybe. Whatever their perceived destination is, there will be delays, roadblocks, detours, and a Bible’s, or Koran’s, worth of wrong turns along the way. This is just the way one travels down heaven or hell’s highway. The finished route lies beyond the horizon. With nature only allowing a set amount of time for the journey to take place, this ensures that the highway doesn’t become a parking lot. Forward motion is good. Driving on the US Interstate System, one occasionally sees deep ruts in the median strip and busted up guardrails. These are the aftermath of past collisions that will be repaired in time. They represent a driver that fell asleep at the wheel and launched himself into oblivion. Even with decades of experience behind the wheel, failure is eminent, especially with age. When the State Troopers give warnings of unsafe conditions and impending disaster, even the best drivers will fail to obey in time. When failing health or inattentive living creates the next 60-car-pile-up, then let the highway patrol, medical personnel, and coroners clear the highway. This will allow the next generation to try their luck at trying to get somewhere they deem necessary, only to find boredom and unhappiness at the Truck Stops of Life.