Revisionist Historian Extraordinaire!

I've avoided listening to two songs recently. An observant soul would know. One is obvious, the other less. Listening to them both tonight was dangerous.

Driving at 1:30 am on a Sunday night is a lonely time to travel, even if it's just to the gas station for milk. Even in a bustling city, the witching hour brings out the absolute minimum of drivers. You can almost imagine you're one of the last people passing across the face of Mother Earth. I find myself comforted by the haunting and eerie feeling that comes with being alone in the world.