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1. Sean Tilley (dsh@deadsuperhero.com)'s status on Saturday, 17-Feb-2018 17:47:24 EST Sean Tilley
   I'm sitting in a van. It's a red 90's Ford Windstar, rocking side to side as it barrels down a long road. The land is flat, repetitive, and boring.
   
   "We're in Nebraska," dad says. The hours of driving have left him in a quiet stupor, his mind dedicated to the bends and twists between objects in motion.
   
   I look over at my brother, and he's seven years old, staring out the window as he plays his GameBoy. We're making our way to Colorado, our yearly summer pilgrimage to the house of my mother's parents. The van''s CD player is blaring Da Vinci's Notebook, and dad sings along to keep himself awake.
   
   My gut feels an awkward sinking feeling. This isn't real, and there is no coming back to this. There is no fixing the marriage of my parents, there is no convergence between scattered people who won't talk to each other.
   
   I sobbed bitterly, and tears streamed down my face.
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