Saints Row IV is a long drive down the Pacific coast in a silver convertible. The top's down, an endless digital mix-tape is pumping out of the speakers. The sun has just started it's descent to the horizon.
Traffic is light, there's salty air swirling off the surf, and a friend you've known for 20 years (or more) is sitting beside you laughing about a shared memory that is 75% accurate and 25% exaggeration or outright bullshit. You're on a stretch of road you've driven many times, so the turns, inclines and declines are all familiar. There's some sad nostalgia, too. You last travelled this road with your now-deceased father when you were 15-years old.
