I love driving the middle-of-the-night stretch of an all night roadtrip — 2am flying down the road in a bubble of silence. Everyone’s passed out in the back. The cd’s over but I don’t want to put in anything else for fear of waking someone — I’m suddenly jealous of the silence. So I zoom along, rummaging through the clutter of my brain noise, listening to that radio station in my head that plays nothing but snippets of songs all mashed together like an ADHD cd changer on permanent shuffle — the one that only plays when I’m alone and it’s quiet.

There always comes a point where I’m hurtling through the night trying desperately to keep the car between the lines. I’ve forgotten about my passengers because they’ve been quiet for so long and the road has expanded until it becomes the only thing I see. Glassy eyes and clammy hands on the wheel.

And then the sun comes up and pokes through the road hypnosis. He feels like an intruder. and like my best friend. ‘Cause I’m out of coffee, I’ve gotta pee and it’s someone else’s turn to drive.