I left the city at 1am. The radio was blaring news about relations between the United States and Russia. I left the station on long enough to find my way to the freeway. A matter of a few minutes no doubt, then it would be straight on for an hour and a half. Still a little lively, the streets were dotted with passers-by finishing their conversations before heading home, then quickly the sidewalks disappeared to make way for wider asphalt. Finally, I changed the radio, choosing according to the program and the quality of reception. A loop between a jazz standard, a political debate in rerun, a program on a traditional Japanese instrument, and an analysis of silence in baroque music. My mix was nothing to be proud of, but it was enough to keep me awake at a late hour. I was almost alone on this freeway which is a major route to the south. Truck headlights were the last remnants of a sleeping civilization and radio broadcasts reminiscent of a world gone by. There was something soothing about driving that night.