In the parking lot of the motel, which was just off the highway, so that you could see and hear the interstate if you looked in its direction, and could contemplate it or listen to it or whatever, I stood for a while next to my vehicle, with my backpack slung over my shoulder, and my phone in one hand, and did precisely that — took in or absorbed the feeling of the place where I happened to have stopped, and tried not to think about anything, and in fact seemed to myself to not be thinking about anything except whatever notions or observations flitted through my mind.