Between August and September, I unwillingly volunteered to drive an oversized Hot Wheels car across the second notch on the Bible Belt. Without time to spare or plan accordingly, at four in the morning, I packed several peanut butter sandwiches, a bag of trail mix, a six-pack of Jolt, an extra pair of just-in-case jeans and a kitten named Jello. I found her two months earlier in my yard, stalking blades of grass scraping against her white chin. The black fur on its back was almost covered by eager weeds, as it fearlessly overcame the terrors in a rarely mowed front lawn.