We are raging and churning into the great American night and I've already had too much to drink. The windows are wide open even though a shattering rain is drowning the road, and the curves and turns gasp for air through their storm drains. Nickelback's cover of, "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting" is hammering out of my speakers and we are rolling over the low hills of New Jersey like dead cavalrymen from another century.
As the streetlights glare, I wonder how much more there is. There are people in Marrakesh doing the same thing right now, people in Jerusalem.... and a bomb will explode and kill fifty eight people in Baghdad tomorrow.
We gaze at the same moon as Achilles and Cuchulain.