Rows of endless yellow dashes hinting at perpetual passing zones, roaming roads, basin highways, straight-and-narrows with less than a dozen cars in 200 miles.
Being on a Wyoming road is having cabin fever without the walls, cabin fever without the context... an empowering restlessness and penetrating loneliness. You're unsure of where you're going, and you can't quite remember what exactly you left behind to get there.
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