The road to Albuquerque along route forty is high desert plains with a great expanse of flat prairie, north and south of the highway. As I drove, to the east the Sandia mountains rose like gentle giants from their slumber. The city lights glistened like Christmas ornaments at the base of the mountains. Blue, red and white dotted the landscape. White lights were like morning stars, disappearing, only to reappear. Colors and shapes melded into a tableau of contrasting images.
Joey slept beside me. It was time to wake him.
"Joey wake up!
Joey rubbed his eyes and straightened in his seat.
Are we there yet? he asked.
"Almost, peel your eyes for Broadway boulevard. Were looking for the Whispering Pines. I replied.
Yawning, he drawled "Its Desert Winds, dude, not Whispering Pines!