Here is another piece of writing that is in no way Towson related or even college related in general. If you’d like to read it, you can click the link below. Oh and if you have any sort of comments, whether you liked it or didn’t (as long as you say why), I’d love to hear it.



I slam the car door and the automatic seat belt slides into place. When I hear it click, I lower the parking break and shift the car into drive. There is a noticeable pause and then a quick jolt as the engine catches up. The transmission isn’t what it used to be, I’m sure. The car has been running with the heat on; it’s comfortable.

It’s raining sheets outside, but that doesn’t stop me from accelerating hard out of the alley. I haven’t even turned my lights on yet. I flick them on as I fly around a turn to face the street. The raindrops light up and then disappear again as they pass through my headlights. It’s been raining all night, and it’s been a long night because of it. I just want to go home.

The needle on the gas gauge hovers just above the E. I just filled it up yesterday, but I’m not surprised. It’s a familiar sight when you drive for a living. Nonetheless, it makes me a little nervous. There’s no way of knowing how much gas is really in the tank, no warning light or anything. The car almost died on me a few days ago because it ran out of gas; something I’m hoping I won’t have to deal with again.

I pull to the edge of a small parking lot that separates the alley from the street. To the right is an intersection, stoplights, streetlights, a convenience store, and the road home. To the left there is a dark neighborhood with no lights to speak of. I turn the wheel to the right.

I reach down and grab my iPod, thumbing through the songs until I find one I like. The battery symbol in the corner is red, with only a small amount of power left. I’ve been playing it all night; it makes work go by much faster. I choose a song and turn the volume up high to drown out the rain.

My foot presses down on the gas pedal and the car lurches forward. For a second I could swear that I saw the gas gauge go down a hair. I come to the light, which immediately turns green. There are no other cars out on a rainy Sunday night at this hour, so I turn right without signaling.

I’m headed home, finally. I grab my phone from the seat next to me and glance at the time. It’s 11:13pm, and while I’m looking at it, it becomes 11:14. Work kept me longer than I expected. Watching that minute tick by is like watching the rest of my night slip away.

I toss the phone back onto the seat and focus my eyes back on the road. The next light is a great deal closer than it was a second ago and is now red. I hit the brakes a little harder than I should, given the weather, and the hand on the speedometer flips back to zero like it was shot from a rubber band. I clench my hands around the wheel and prepare for a possible skid. The wheels are up to the challenge, though, and the car comes to a smooth, if abrupt, stop in the left turn lane.

There are still no other cars. I flash my brights into the intersection, hoping to trigger a green light. It is apparently too early for that trick, so I sit back and begin waiting patiently. To my left, the “finish crossing, but don’t start,” light is flashing. It is one of those modern ones with the official countdown running. 27 seconds. Great. I’m pretty sure that most people could begin crossing at 27 seconds and still make it across. In fact I’m pretty sure most people could stop to have a picnic in the crosswalk and still make it in under 27 seconds.

Suddenly the inside of the car goes silent, and all I hear is the rain bouncing off the hood. I grab the iPod and find that it’s dead. Unfortunate, but it was bound to happen. 15 seconds.

Another car pulls up next to me. It is the only other one on the road. 5 seconds.

4… 3… 2… 1… 0… 0… 0… 0…

Oh come on.

Finally the green turn arrow pops up ahead of me. I pull through the empty intersection, leaving the other car to wait his turn at the light.

The rainy silence is creeping me out, so I begrudgingly turn on the radio. The speakers crackle as the music rips through the car. It is way too loud. I wince as I reach to turn down the volume. What’s good for the iPod is apparently not good for the radio. Noted. I press the leftmost button and watch green volume bars disappear from the radio display. In a few seconds, my ears have adjusted and I grant a few of those bars back.

I navigate the car through the foggy darkness, bringing me a little closer to home. On my way I pass several common routes I drive at work, but I pass them and stay on my way.

Underneath the music I detect the faint sound of my cell phone ringing. I look over and see its blue glow in the crevice of my passenger seat. When I grab it and flip it open, the power symbol is blinking. My phone is on its last legs. Instead of letting it go the way of my iPod, I show mercy and turn it off prematurely. I eye my gas gauge nervously. While considering stopping to fill up the tank, I start to think about my bank account and all the money I have been spending on gas. I can visualize it dwindling. I’d rather hold off a day.

It’s now 11:25 and the day is almost over. I am running out of everything and this puts me on edge. I’m running on empty.

The clock keeps ticking, though, and when it hits 11:30 my car and I are sitting in front of my house. I turn the key towards my body and pull it out. The car breathes an audible sigh of relief as it shuts down. It can rest now.

I take my phone, my iPod, and myself inside for a much needed recharge. I think I’ll hit the gas station tomorrow.

1. Benedict John Frederick IV, December 3, 2007:

   Evan, I miss you. Almost as much as I miss being a delivery driver.

   Wait. That was damning by faint praise. Let’s just keep it at “I miss you”.