I am a character in one of those primitive racing games, the colourful scenery flies past me and I am static, bar the occasional impromptu sideways lurch.
The finish line, the solution, the redeemer reaches me, I don't reach it.
I clutch the steering wheel tokenistically. I fool the passenger beside me: I am not in control at all. The grain of the view through the rear window is incongruent; the scenery repeats itself every ten yards. Unheimlich. I am stuck, I am a rooted passenger and this will not cease until the end of the road arrives.
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