I'm generally not keen on driving at night, but it has its pleasures, especially when the roads are dry and the stars are out. When it's late enough, there aren't many vehicles on the parkway other than trucks, and the mind coasts from organizing priorities to analyzing the orchestration of Francis Cabrel songs. ("Dame d'un soir" is echoing through my head at the moment, and I'm still up partly because I'm in the mood to write back to it...)

The off-tune sense of humor is currently fascinated by the exigencies of place vs. time: I spent Sunday evening at the office, as did the accountants who work on the same floor. Today, though, their corner was completely dark -- an expected, annual occurrence, and yet it still struck me as visually weird. So did stopping at the 24-hour McDs in Glasgow and the 24-hour Walmart in Berea, and the non-rhythm I felt in those places. They weren't deserted or silent - when I left the McD's, there was a string of musical clanks that sounded like someone drawing twangs from a tire - but they did have that feel of "anyone who isn't here working is a stranger passing through," which I suppose might could be a lesson to me not to take my neighborhood hangs for granted.

[Then again, I might could stop blathering about things that aren't meant to be profound and get on with the writing of poems or the getting of sleep. Alors...]