By day, it’s unremarkable — faded yellow lines, cracked asphalt, weeds pushing through the shoulder. But at dusk, something shifts. The sun angles low through the power lines, casting long, skeletal shadows. The air smells of dry grass and rust. If you roll down your windows, you can hear the faint hum of transformers and, if you’re lucky, the distant chime of a freight train crossing.
And at night, when the fog rolls in from the river, the headlights barely cut through. You slow down. You stop trying to get somewhere else. For a few minutes, you’re exactly where you need to be — on Drive U 7. drive u 7
Drive U 7 is a non-place to engineers and city planners. But to the people who need a moment to breathe, to remember, to forget — it’s sacred. It asks nothing of you. No entry fee. No destination. Just the quiet permission to pause. By day, it’s unremarkable — faded yellow lines,
Drive U 7 isn’t long. Maybe seven-tenths of a mile. It doesn’t lead anywhere remarkable: a shuttered drive-in theater on one end, a gravel turnaround on the other. But for those who know it, the drive itself is the destination. The air smells of dry grass and rust
Here’s a short piece on — written as a reflective narrative. Drive U 7