screeching off on the deserted streets, its taillights leaving fading tracks in my eyes. Bereft.
It took me five hours to get home from the club. They were doing track work on the subway line that night and two trains skipped my station. Then I went in the wrong direction and just missed a connection, having to wait twenty minutes in a desolate station somewhere in Brooklyn. By the time I finally arrived back in Valley Stream the sun was up and Sunday morning in progress. I fumbled with my keys in the train station parking lot, got in my car, and drove home on a lightening day, my head clear, like a bell. It wasn’t until hours later that the news cameras began showing up.