The U7 isn't just a stretch of asphalt. It's the last pulse of the city before the suburbs take over.
You're in the passenger seat, asleep. Or pretending to be. Your hand rests on the center console, fingers curled slightly. I don't wake you. Some conversations don't need words. Some drives are just about the quiet between exits. driveu7 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. The U7 isn't just a stretch of asphalt
Drive U7 Home