Nothing makes me more American than the obsession I have for driving. I could be the modern representation of the passion 20th century Americans felt for automobiles when they first became widely accessible. Driving with the windows down is a must…the air that rushes past my face is icy yet soft. I speed down the concave road leading into downtown as the last splashes of sunset disappear into the horizon. Ahead, millions of little lights dot the sloping path half gold half red. Driving was my own concocted drug made of a mixture of dopamine, serotonin, adrenaline, and sprinkled with the most important ingredient of them all–freedom.
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