Brian walked into our kitchen at 4:15 AM on Friday, and at 9:30 that evening we both walked into our parents’ kitchen (what is it about these houses with kitchen doors?) in Evansville. That’s 10:30 Boston time – eighteen hours door to door. We stopped five times for gas and once for hamburgers and ice cream (Graeters) near Columbus. While it was a blast for me – I got to hang with my older brother, we both vented about family matters, I could rest my weary orbs and still make miles, and those miles, they just flew by – for Brian, well, he’s flying back with Matt and Diane on Wednesday. “The problem with a crummy memory (which he doesn’t have but he’s making a point here) is I’ve forgotten how horrible it is to be locked in a car for eighteen hours.”  Look, he’s my older brother; he’s not as flexible as I am. The most entertaining moments of the trip (for me) occurred during those gas stops. I’d hop out first and then watch him roll out of the truck onto the pavement and then try to stand up.

Brian pulled me over to this Mustang in Ohio and waited until I noticed

the license plate.