ritual static

I drove through the night, it was just like the old days. When I was alone and would travel to obscure part of the outlaying areas of the suburbs, down a winding farm road for a few miles or down the streets of closed retail in the middle of the night. Tonight I drove to the pier, and pulled into the large gravel parking lot. It was near one a.m. I pulled up, turned the car off and sat there for a moment. I got spooked, by the possibility of some figure jumping out of the brush or emerging from the Sound, covered in muck. I quickly drove away, back the way I came. I had the radio on, near the end of the broadcast. It is the best part. It reminds me of the end of broadcast days and how there would be the national anthem, images of flags waving, picturesque views, then the last triumphant strains, then fuzz, all through the night.