Nobody else is here.
It’s still and hushed, save for the distant
sound of a car rumbling down the nearby road
every few minutes.
The headlights bend the shadows as they pass by,
but the shadows snap back into place every time,
like nothing ever happened, like nobody was ever
there.
It doesn’t quite feel like I’m being watched, but
it definitely doesn’t feel like I’m alone.
▶ I’m out of gas
▶ I’m lost
▶ I’m here now
I’m out of gas, so I guess I’m stuck here until
I can fill up my car.
I’m lost, so I can’t leave until I figure out
where I’m going next.
I’m here now, so I might as well stick around
for a bit.
It’s so quiet here.
▶ It feels like I’m intruding
▶ It feels like I’m interrupting
It feels like I’m intruding, like I’m not
supposed to be here right now.
Maybe this moment wasn’t expected to be seen by
anyone.
I won't stay long, I don't think.
It feels like I'm interrupting, like something
private is happening.
It’s as if this place, this moment, has paused
to let me in.
I won't stay long, I don't think.
The air is cool and a little bit humid.
Reminds me of the morning before a field trip at
school.
Things feel fuzzy.
I should have brought a jacket.
I’m restless.
I don’t feel like I can stay in one spot too
long.
Like I have something to do, somewhere to be.
The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, so the sky has
the faintest tint of light.
But it’s still dark.
There’s fog rising in the distance, making the
world fuzzy and gray.
Nighttime is so lonely — I wonder why that is?
It must be because the world is asleep.
Seeing the night means you’re somewhere most
people aren’t.
It will be morning soon. Not yet.
▶ I’m up much too late
▶ I’m up much too early
I’m up much too late, but I’m not tired.
I’m up much too early, but I’m not tired.
If it weren’t for the lights, I would think this
place was
▶ closed.
▶ abandoned.
▶ deserted.
▶ forgotten.
If it weren’t for the lights, I would think this
place was closed.
Maybe it is.
If it weren’t for the lights, I would think this
place was abandoned.
Maybe it is.
If it weren’t for the lights, I would think this
place was deserted.
Maybe it is.
If it weren’t for the lights, I would think this
place was forgotten.
Maybe it is.
The machine takes my card just fine.
I squeeze the pump to fill my car, and all that
comes out is a sigh of air, the metal squeaking
in my fingers, empty.
Maybe it’s broken?
My charge is $0.00.
The machine asks if I’d like a receipt.
Just like every other rest stop I’ve seen, it
feels almost like I’ve been here before.
And just like every other rest stop, this place
groans in agony that I must be on my way, I can’t
stay long, I have somewhere to be, this is not
my final resting place.
It’s haunting, in a way, that the lights inside
are still on.
Like it means someone must be here to turn them
off when they leave.
I wonder if they’re open?
Maybe somebody is here after all.
The door is unlocked. Should I go in?
▶ I'm not finished out here yet.
▶ Let's see if anyone is inside.