Part 1
I drive into the dark , white lines darting hypnotically beneath the car one after the other like luminescent fish in a river of pitch. Nothing exist s beyond the dim glow of the headlights. The windows are down; a pleasantly cold wind whip s through the car. It’s quiet—just the hum of the engine and the sound of dense rubber spinning smoothly over asphalt. The car radio is gone—well, not gone, but ha s long since stopped working, and subsequently been removed, now taking up residence in the rear dash. Now there is only a gaping slot in the exact center of the dashboard, emanating a tangible silence. I sigh and fumble for a cigarette, stripping the cellophane from the fresh new pack, sliding a single mentholated Virginia Slim from the others. I pull it to my lips. I think of my mother. I mutter a curse under my breath, and flick the unlit cigarette out the window. Headlights appear behind me, glaring and bright. Too bright. Too close. “Dim your lights,” I mutte