I walk to my truck and there’s a couple making out in the car across the street. Their silhouetted shapes separate as I slam my door and start the engine, coming together again as I pull away. It’s late, and it’d be a lot warmer if they made out inside. When I park the asphalt is covered in frost, tiny glimmers of light like glitter falling from the sky. I can’t tell if it’s on the asphalt or in the air.
It’s late and I should be going to bed. But only out of convenience. I’d rather read a book. Or flip through a catalog. But it’s more convenient to sleep at night, when all should be quiet. Sleeping after class never quite works.