You walk the street, night cold against your skin. The asphalt scratches your feet. You walk down the centre of the road, playing chicken with the cars. So far they’ve all chickened out first.

The last (a Ford? You can’t be sure) swerved violently, missed you. You thought they’d be in the ditch for sure. Somehow the driver held it together, screamed obscenities as they drove away. You didn’t even turn to watch.

Road’s been empty too long. You guess it’s the hour, that and the road. You consider trying the highway. There are always cars on the highway.

But it’s lit. That thing shines bright as day at midnight, gives them too much chance. You’d be visible too long.

You prefer to test reactions, wait ’til their headlamps hit you. That’s why you choose moonless nights. Continue Reading