Late night drives hit different

The clocks surrender to the dark, the bedroom windows fade to black, and out beyond the quiet park, the asphalt stretches, ribbon-slack. ​No brake lights flare, no sirens scream, just yellow dashes cutting through, a steady hum inside the dream the sleeping city never knew. ​The amber lanterns overhead wash down the hood in pools of gold; the world is tucked away in bed, its daytime worries left on hold. ​Just cold night air through open space, a low-dial song to keep the pace, and miles of pavement running free— belonging, now, to only me.