All roads lead to the sea

The problem with your own mode of transportation, a vehicle if you will, is that you can go wherever the bounds allow. I would drive into the sea, witness-less, if it were up to me. So I am car-less. I always have a witness, the cab guy, the friend etc. I go where I must. Sometimes, I ask the cab guy to take the longer route, just a put a use-less stop in between, hoping he would lose his way. Only partially. I wouldn’t want to subject another to the fate of a lost highway. I have mine and that’s that.
But there are so many roads, and so many road signs and so many signage, albeit in this country they are incompetently placed, as perhaps the signs trust that you will trust a fellow being and finally ask for direction, the signs form part of the informality that resides in my country. The signs digress you to take you to a point. Yet the sign, no matter how badly placed, still holds the destination within it. You reach, you reach somewhere.
But roads are not kind. They take you far away, far away, farther still. They trample on rough earth. They wish you move, constantly. Only losers and the dying stand on them. The only food they provide is roadkill and spilled milk. It’s unreasonable to ask the road to give us something, I’m told by ghosts.

_________

That’s why I ask the cab guy to keep driving. The roads are unkind, I say to myself, heard by ghosts who can’t be bothered with my nonsense. Houses lose to roads, everyday. They put up no fight. Houses are status-quo-ists. Of course.
The sea ends the road. The sea conquers the road. The only point of the car is to take you to the sea, everything else is forever ‘on the way’, a digression, by ways of bad signage and clueless denizens.

So I ask the cab guy to take the longer route. Road is unkind, the sea is far, my house quite close by.

There’s a joke, “where does this road go?”, “nowhere, It just sits there”.