Peaked

It being two o'clock in the morning and me getting the spontaneous night-owl urges that I do, I decided to travel up Paris Mountain earlier. I hadn't used my camera for anything like what it was made for in weeks and I'd been getting a twitchy feeling all night, as if it was my duty to go out at some point before daybreak. Usually when I get that feeling, I end up either helping someone with a flat tire or being questioned by the police. Go figure.

It was cold. Very cold. By the time I reached the summit, dodging leaves pretending to be squirrels all the way, the temperature had dropped by a degree with each chug of the engine. I didn't pass a single car the entire way, but my imagination concocted a fiery car crash at each curve, complete with bodies in the roadway and a knife-wielding dead-eye madman. I'd only ever been to the top a few times, all during the day. I knew it was a nice view on a clear day, but I had no idea of just how many lights there are in a single city. As I drove, I had to keep myself from running off the mountainside, so intrigued was I with the lights of my city. A few times, the darkness was so complete around me that I could almost put myself in the cockpit of a starship flying low over Coruscant. What, no one else does that?













I found company at the top. A sedan with no lights on, parked on the overlook. I didn't have to guess what was going on inside, what with the foggy nature of the windows, but I did have to let lose a little chuckle at the desperately frantic movement of arms and legs when my headlights poured through the back window.

I argued with myself for a moment about staying, wondering what exactly the etiquette was in such a situation. If I were polite and understanding, I would have turned around, leaving the overlook to teenaged shenanigans which such a place was made for. Oh well, I'd driven a long way to get a few pictures. I could almost feel the desperate eyes of Pressured Teen Girl on the back of my head as her eyes went from myself, setting up my camera tripod, to the rapidly deflating penis of Lucky Stud. My apologies, guy.

I took a few pictures, which didn't turn out very good, and then retreated down the mountainside, allowing NPR's piano concerto to drown out the renewed squeak of the sedan's suspension system.


















Lot of writing for not much of an adventure.
Forgive me, I haven't blogged in ages.