Home isn't a place. It's the road that knows your name.
The U7 winds past the old diner, the car wash that's always open, the overpass where kids spray-paint promises they'll never keep. Each landmark is a stitch in the fabric of this — this journey, this evening, this strange, fragile peace. driveu7 home
Drive U7 Home
And when the garage door finally opens, and the headlights cut out, I'll sit for just a second longer. Let the silence settle. Let the ride mean what it meant. Home isn't a place