Dueling 87's / Carafe

He passes a sign that says, "Welcome to Indiana!" and he can't help but think that the exclamation point is a little unnecessary. The map declares it his third state today but if scenery dictated borders he'd still be in Indihiovania.
The speed limit jumps from 65 to 75 and he tweaks his strategy appropriately.
"Troopers don't pull you over for going 10 over. Everyone goes 10 over. 15 is the magic number. That's when they nail you."
His words evaporate, going unheard. She's still asleep.
He sets the cruise for 87 and rubs his eyes.
In the course of the next 2 hours he passes 12 cars, is passed by 2, she tells him to turn the music down, the Wilco disc skips, and all 3 weigh stations are closed.

There are bales of hay. Hundreds of them.

He comes upon a car on his right, entering the highway from the on ramp so he switches lanes, giving him room to merge.
Soon he sees the same car approaching in the neighboring lane. It slowly creeps along side of him, seemingly coming to a stop as their front bumpers align. For a moment his eyes play a trick on him as it appears both cars have come to rest when in fact they are moving at identical speeds.

They share a space of I94 for several minutes. Just two men driving.

Maybe it was the sudden break in monotony, or maybe it was his appreciation of the absurd, but his mind drifts from the speedometer and the fuel gauge and focuses on the circumstances that had brought the two drivers to this awkward stand still at 87 miles per hour. That they were born in different towns, had gone to different schools, tried different foods, read different books, likely had differing opinions on politics, and fucked different women. Even as recently as this morning they had woke at different times, gone to different coffee places, made different phone calls, had varying success on the crossword puzzle, and had purchased different amounts of fuel at different gas stations. Yet here they are, one in his Pontiac Sunfire and one in his Nissan Maxima, side by side in bumblefuck Indiana, hurling towards home, sharing identical latitudes and longitudes 12 miles above the speed limit.
He turns his head and briefly makes eye contact with the driver of the other car and while no words or even facial expressions are exchanged, he can't help but feel that they find solace in each other.
He entertains the idea of rolling down his window and initiating a mutual acknowledgment of their bond, but but the other car suddenly disappears behind him, breaking the communion and exiting the highway.

Alone again on the road he decides to wake his wife and explain what she's missed but she speaks first.

"You zoning out or something? You just missed our exit."