Kentucky. I’m southbound on I-75, at mm 140. It’s raining. Hard. And I love it. I’ve put off listening to the radio because I want to listen to the rain. It seems fitting that it would rain on New Year’s Day. “Wash away these sins and the stench of mornings past, for I long to be cleansed of my transgressions.” I am old and I am weary, and right now I want nothing more than to find my way home.