He never watched the road as he drove. His gaze always lay out the window. It terrified me, but it was such a facinating thing that I couldn't stop driving with him. I asked him once, as I sat by his side with white knuckles, why he looked out the window. Without letting the landscape leave his vision he replied simply that the road was too boring to be watched for any amount of time. I replied that, seeing as I have in fact been in three accidents I knew how unpleasent it was, so why did he insist on doing this. He turned and looked at me without even glancing at the road, stating that the moment he was more concerned with his own well-being than the facinating world surrounding him, he would make sure that he got in an accident because nothing was worth less than a person who has lost their sense of wonder and curiousity. He turned back to the window, and finally, without glancing at the road, I turned back to mine.