Late night, Salt Lake City

2 September 2012

I set a goal yesterday of getting some writing done and being productive.

Toward that end, I drink two cups of coffee after 10:00 PM and think that the creative juices will flow as I look out the window over the darkened Gateway shopping center. In the distance, over the power substation and Wing Nutz restaurant and Bureau of Land Management building, glows the persistent red neon of the Red Lion Hotel. We seem to be the only ones awake, the Red Lion neon and I. The Z Tejas sign flicks off. One car passes. It looks like the same one that passed five minutes ago. Is the driver lost? Are they on drugs? Are they just looking for a good time, but too afraid to try their luck on a different block?

Sirens blare and dissolve into the distance. Surely, at least they know where they are going. They do not linger on one stretch of road trying to find purpose. They have a goal. Emergencies. They wait for something unsavory to happen and then charge forward. The rest of us are somnambulists, cruising the strip with heavy lids waiting for the lights to no longer turn green so that we know when to stop, when we’re home.

But we just drive and drive, wearing away the same familiar macadam, creating our own ruts and potholes and forgetting to avoid them later.

Yet, the routine hurts and comforts at the same time. The darkness promises comfort and sanctuary. The moon is a friend full of empathy.

Somewhere, there seems to be a mixed metaphor, but I’m not going to try and find it.