It’s late. Nobody knows where I am.

My eyes drift this way and that, the focus shifting between the imperfections of the windshield and the infinitely distant stars. The immediacy and potential of the situation presses in upon me. The expanse of the universe taunts me with inevitable aloneness.

My hands drum on the steering wheel, afraid to go anywhere else, lest they signal some intent. The thrum of the engine taunts me, threatening to go away and leave me exposed or alternatingly pretending to be my cell phone going off. They could call, after all. That could ruin everything.

Or make it all better.

My leg bounces, stupid nervous habit. Keyed up, ready for anything, I feel powerful and in control. The swirl of possibilities whispers of chaos and catastrophic outcomes a hundred Spartans couldn’t stave off.

My laugh is quiet. Nothing is funny. The whole sordid mess makes me feel alive; I know how unhealthy that is. I should just go home or maybe stay a bit.

It’s late. Nobody knows where I am.