At 3:45 AM, every car has a story. There is a stop light ahead, one car waiting, I must be driving faster than he is. Where is that person going, what is that person doing, what is that person thinking. You never really know what's going on in someone elses mind, but I like to try to figure it out sometimes.
Well, green light, we'll follow him a little; see where he turns off; see if that helps make sense of what he's doing driving around at this God forsaken time of day. Not far at all really, he's turning into that coin-op laundromat. What kind of person does laundry at ten minutes of four in the morning? One need really look no further than the man standing there doing laundry in sweat-shorts, a white undershirt and what looks like a flannel pajama top. The man's a little overweight, middle-aged, shifting his laundry basket in preparation of moving things to the dryer. What does that man do, why is he here? He's probably not married, probably no girlfriend, if it were a weekday, I'd wonder about his employment status. For now, he is a man cleaning his clothing. And that other car, pulling into the laundromat lot, is that just another man, come to do laundry? Is it a woman, come to do laundry, that will inevitably discover the lone cleaner in his minimal clothing, fall in love and have a steamy relationship that eventually crumbles as their differences become more and more apparent? Just a car, pulling into a laundromat, just shy of 4AM. But then the laundromat is gone, the road behind, and everything continues, leaving me the only car on the road at almost 4AM.
I must continue, much more on ahead. Another car, driving towards me. A steady approach means the driver is probably sober, thats a problem you encounter on roads at the dead of night. Where is he going in such a hurry? Returning from a long night of gallivanting, perhaps. Gallivanting with his friends? Perhaps this person has been having a sordid relationship with his boss's secretary; they can't see each other during the week; smiling in the office is all, more might interfere with work; but the weekends are where their drama thrives.
Car comes on fast and passes me