What do I really expect on a night like this? For things to turn out the way I’ve always hoped? It never does, so why do I bother?
It's still kind of warm in Bakersfield, but a storm is coming. The clouds have been threatening at a distance all evening. The wind licking the leaves on the ground, teasing them onward, upward, away from me.
I’m racing down highway 58, blasting The National out of open windows, singing at the top of my lungs:
“You get mistaken for strangers by your own friends
When you pass them at night under the silvery, silvery Citibank lights
Arm in arm in arm and eyes and eyes glazing under
Oh you wouldn’t want an angel watching over
Surprise, surprise they wouldn’t wannna watch
Another uninnocent, elegant fall into the unmagnificent lives of adults…”
Of course I’m thinking of you. But it doesn’t matter. Dreams like mine never come true. So, I continue to drive… and sing… all the way to my intended destination…