MUSIC CUE: Générique by Miles Davis

It’s 1 AM, rain-wet pavement reflects the light of signs and tail lights in long shards of color.

Midnight college radio offers a soundtrack that turns a familiar daytime drive into an epic cross-town road trip.

The red and blue strobes of a squad car spark in the blackness of the night, serving and protecting and simultaneously pointing out at least one of somebody’s string of tonight’s probable bad decisions.

The practicalities of the after-midnight hours make one feel imprudent for always sleeping them away.

All night drive-thrus offer bad tacos handed into your driver’s window by a kid, like a slow-motion pit-stop drink given to Carroll Shelby in the 24-hour race at LeMans.

The red lights have turned flashing yellow, wave you through town on a non-stop roll.

Predictability is so predictable till it is not. We think that we should long for predictability. Night drives make us keenly aware that there is exquisite beauty in the unexpected.

Insomnia, like a pebble in your shoe — you can never get used to it, or past it, if you stay in bed.


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