It belonged to the tarmac, to long-forgotten roads and empty petrol stations where the person behind the counter stares at something past your shoulder and says nothing. You'll spend just enough time there to feel on the verge of writhing in your own skin, the urge to simply unzip your body and run away into thin air.
It belonged to vast swathes of nothing but a thin grey road and freshly ploughed fields with no farm in sight and not a single cloud in the sky to shield you from the harsh glare of the stars above. They won't change no matter how far you drive but if you stare long enough they begin to form a face you wish you'd never seen. Do not make eye contact.
It belonged to a road made of truck tracks and lined with broken hubcaps. This will not appear on any map or app but if you welcome the hitchhiker several miles away, he will show you how to drive down there and reach your mutual destination three hours early. You will never see him or the road again if you are lucky.
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