Two hot-air balloons hover on the horizon, still in mid-air. Flying just north of the Renner Road exit, two radio controlled planes soar high into the air. The horizon serenely promises a gorgeous sunset, not a Hawaiian sunset where the sun just disappears, but a sunset which slowly, manuscript-like, illumines clouds and glows across prairie and changes lives. The juxtapositions contrast with doing 60 miles an hour in a well-used Crown Victoria, which lacks only a few thousand miles crossing 100,000, at which point it ceases to be an "immoral big gas-guzzling car" and turns into an "all-American classic", albeit a classic that local police everywhere are protesting for its gas tank's alleged propensity for being intolerant of high-speed collisions. I looked into that horizon, and felt a list of things to do, deadlines to meet, trips to take, and work to accomplish. The radio played an NPR special on Bob Hope, who wise-cracked and sang about the Road to Morocco. I sped on, into the sunset, another day ended.