‘Road songs, singalongs, and bar-fly lullabies—all those small, potent moments of Self that occur somewhere between ‘E’ and ‘F’—Empty diners, old timers, and their own half-remembered brake-light flights—The dog-tag grandeur of postwar promises—The tawny promise of wheat fields in the morning sun—Casey’s Kona blend and $38 motels—Chuck Berry bursting out of some busted up jukebox in Helena, Arkansas at 7:33AM CDT—and part of you is out there too, somewhere, just off of an on-ramp, combing the morning grain; that elusive, long-wandering Yonder you’ve barreled towards so many times before—ghosts, coasts, HIGHWAYS & BYWAYS...’