Somewhere past hour six of every road trip, somebody needed to hear it. The map was folded wrong, the cooler was down to warm soda, and Dad cranked the radio and said it like it settled everything: keep on truckin'.
This is that line in big, leaning cream script with a stacked burnt-orange shadow and a little worn speckle. Kiss-cut on glossy white vinyl and sized for a laptop lid, a water bottle, or the notebook that rides along on every trip.
I made it for anyone still putting miles on. Stick it somewhere you'll see it on the long days.
