Sometimes, when I drive home at night, I can see eyes in the rear view mirror, yellow and cold. I try not to look, but the tension between avoiding the presence and pretending it isn't present forces my periphery into focus. A silhouette against streetlight projected through the rear window pane, and I wonder how many other grown men are still afraid of the dark.
Nobody ever wants to be alone in the dark, but I am not always alone in the dark.
Dear everyone down on the earth below, your city's shining bright from thirty thousand feet above, and the turbulence makes me wonder just what we're floating on, and if space is a time frame that will continue when we're gone, well...
When we land, I'll step out onto one of my true loves: Seattle, smoking cigarettes and goblins crawling into their holes for the evening. Maybe it's just one of those seasons, but they've always been friendlier than the demons in the back seat of my car.