I need a nap. Maybe it was the drive through Alabama that wore me out. The miles can do that to a man, even when he’s only riding shotgun.

I always ride shotgun on these trips. My wife feels most at ease when her hands are on the wheel. She calls me Miss Daisy.

I pretend to hate that name.

Right now, the sun is shining through the truck windshield, burning my thighs. The scenery flying by the windows is stunning. Bright green fields. Lonesome barns. Red dirt roads. Tall pines that look like flagpoles.

I once spent a month in lower Utah, where all the trees looked dead. The air there was dry enough to turn your face into beef jerky. I’ve never been so glad to arrive back on Southern soil.

When my plane touched down, the first thing I took pleasure in was our humidity, which saturates your drawers. Also, our local smells. An aroma which primarily consists of mold and sulfur—think old eggs and oyster stew.

I could live on that smell.

I know I’m supposed to want to see the world. They tell me to visit Paris or London before I die. Maybe I will. But I’m not saving up for a ticket any time soon. The main reason: I have a hard time taking naps in strange places. And I like naps too much to give them up.

The truth is, I like it here. You want to old architecture? We have more old mobile homes than we do gnats; more old churches than mobile homes. And I love single-wides, especially the ugly kinds.

Maybe you want exotic religion? Fine. In Tuscaloosa, we claim more elephant-worshippers than the entirety of India—though ours aren’t as well-behaved.

And our magnolias. God, they make summertime look like a damn party. We just drove past a thousand-foot-tall magnolia tree, blossoms the size of basketballs.

I guess what I’m trying to say is: I had wanderlust once. I daydreamed of getting away. I don’t know what I wanted back then. Something new, I suppose. To forget. It’s taken me a long time to quit daydreaming and just look out my window, like I’m doing here.

Right now, we just crossed the Alabama-Florida line. Soon, I’ll see the magnolia in my front yard. Our cats will be sunning in the driveway. My wife will say, “We’re home, Miss Daisy.”

Home.

And then I’ll take a nap.