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The White Van

Between the fights over the music and Kevin driving too slowly the car rides are interesting to say the least. The terrain and environment around us is largely calm and still. Grand mountains bordering desert, rocks, and trees dominate our line of sight. And, with all the peacefulness surrounding our great minds, as humans do best, we mess it up.

Imagine road tripping with 11 clashing personalities, perspectives, and musical tastes. I distinctly remember putting on a Kind of Blue, my favorite jazz album. Everyone in the car with the exception of Mateo threw up their hands in disgust. They said, “I can’t listen to jazz” or “it’s not the right mood.” Appalled by the situation, I crossed my arms in frustration like a small child would and proceeded to act passive. Though, it was not always bad. We did listen to Kendrick Lamar. But, we listened to him too much and his beautiful voice, lyricism, and message drowned within the confines of the four doored white van. It is not that I do not like the van, I hate the van. I hate the color; I hate the exaust; and most of all I hate the feeling I get when I eat candy in it. But with all this hatred, I loath standing still and movement is necessary. For what is life without a little discomfort?