One day James A. Reeves realized that he no longer understood his country or what he should be doing in it. There was a time when the road to manhood was clear—go to war, find a job with a big company, wear a tie, and start a family —but then the wars got strange and companies changed. He decided to go for a drive to clear his head. What resulted is a scattershot journey spanning five years, forty thousand miles, twelve speeding tickets, and several moments of unexpected kindness through the neon corridors and dark corners of America.
Reeves drove along the back roads taking pictures and looking for answers, kept company by the nervous chatter of talk radio and the ambient drone of twenty-four-hour diners, as he drifted toward a slow reckoning with his own compulsions and unexpected loss.