The hundred-mile drive to my parents’ house, once undertaken too seldom, has become a biweekly routine as Alzheimer’s colonizes my mother’s mind. To preserve what remains of mine, I’ve made the car a photo studio, challenging myself to find visual interest and meaning in the yawning stretches of highway that connect Los Angeles and its exurbs. The images become a meditative exercise on rote memory, passive time, and the in-between: those uncelebrated qualities that claim the greater quantity of our days.