The farms in Indiana seem to be in better shape than down South. White-painted wooden houses, hundred years old, full of spires, verandas and porches line the main street in the small towns we pass through. It gets dark early and we move through an invisible landscape of shadows and distant lights. We listen to ghost-stories on the CD-player and it takes some time before we notice the flashing blue lights that keep trailing us. I stop the car and Nina jumps out. A police officer walks up to the car and scans inside with his torch light. Passers-by have called the police because we were driving slowly and he wants to check whether we are intoxicated. Electric car? Save power? Then he understands and wish us safe travels!


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