They chased the horizon; completely unaware that they were already right on top of it. The motor clanged and choked on the asphalt at their feet. She pulled the clutch and pressed the gas, passed the signs and chased the tracks left burnt into the pavement. He said, "Let's not make a mark, let's not leave a sign." Only they knew where their tires had touched, but the speed blurred it out of memory. So here they were, two people runningg out of time. They had a cooler in the back, hardly ever stopped for food, and only four times they stopped for gas. She would count the yellow dashes, he the road kill. "The boredom you went through to get where you are going, is worth it." He explained. She believed him, and going nowhere, they traced the tracks on the road.