I put on loud music. I am listening to loud music. But the sound scarcely touches me. The blur of still objects. The darkness of incandescent lights. A gap between songs – something can be heard – but then the music starts again like a dumb hairy animal. The evening is heavy of flesh and weary. If only it could carry itself off to decompose. The sliding glass door is slightly open, but with no promise of an unexpected guest. All manner of uncommunicative things. The blue wall. The white wall. The framed painting. I can’t even look at the table. It is the forest at the edge of a massive freeway through a place I have never visited. The only option is to keep driving, to press harder on the pedal. Been listening to the radio for so long, my ears are numb. No use switching stations. No use even imagining getting home. Fuck the forest and the misty night. Fuck this whole fucking road trip.

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