“I miss getting lost,” I tell the empty car.
“Turn right at the next intersection,” It replies.
I know my hands will turn the wheel even as I wonder what will happen if I continue driving straight.
In this decade, I’ll always know my way; I’ll always know which route is faster or cheaper or more scenic or less so.
I look at the mountain range ahead, framed by a late summer sunset. I can make out a tiny structure on one of the peaks. Is it a home or a restaurant or a getaway?
I turn right, just as I was told too. I drive away from my questions because my trajectory is written, the voice directs me, and I will never get lost again.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Going Obsolete.”