Here we are on the road. We must be going somewhere.

If there are rules, we're the ones making them. We can change them whenever we want to.

Peel off these dusty wool blankets of apathy and antipathy and cynical desiccation. I want life in all its stupid sticky rawness.

It's more eerie to be alone in a city that's lit up and functioning than one that's a tomb. If everything were silent, one could almost pretend to be in nature. A forest. A meadow. Crickets and birdsong. But the corpse of civilization is as restless as the creatures that now roam the graveyards.

What a massive responsibility, being a moral creature

I feel an unfamiliar but pleasant sensation in my lips, tugging them upward. This is... new.

I want to change my punctuation. I long for exclamation marks, but I'm drowning in ellipses.