She'd often drag me along on these trips. Spontaneous-middle of the night excursions that led me someplace different everytime. Late trains to the next county over, car trips to old roadside motels, acquariums, hazy bookshops filled with whiskey fumes and dust. She'd arrive, more often than not, at 2AM and ring the doorbell. When I answered (I always did) I'd find her drowsy eyed and half swaying on her feet but she'd smile and tug my arm. I'd pull on a coat, grab the bag I kept in the hall for such occasions and shuffle down the front lawn with her arm through mine. We'd get in the car and waited the half hour it took for the coffee to kick in (she'd always kept a stocked thermos can in the backseat). When her eyes sharpened and lost that glazed look I'd turn on the radio and it was time for us to head out. She'd start the engine and I'd turn my eyes to the window to watch the night scury past us.

This next part was different every time. On some nights she'd talk and laugh boisterously and on others she'd remain silent, watching the road rolling out before her. We'd speed along on the dark pavement and on the quiter nights I'd trace new patterns in the stars. The telephone poles would accompany us for the better of a few miles until the crossing and from there the lamp posts trailed us North instead. Once we'd arrived at the main road she'd pick left or right. She'd always kept a quarter in the cupholder. For the Roman nosed man with the curled hair a hard turn east. For the trunk-footed eagle with the dead eye a leisurely swerve westwards. I'd watch the spinning silver disk amusedly.

On some trips we'd be away weeks at a time. Others the hour there and the second hour back. Still others I'd wake having lost all track of time and over the years these instances became -thankfully- far and few in between. On one particular trip we'd taken the direction of the dead eyed eagle and had spent four hours on the straight road fleeing the watery sunrise. We'd passed a few towns by then - all of them deserted areas with dullish grey buildings squatted over half decayed or long gone grass. She'd continued driving for a few more miles before veering suddenly left. The city, by then bathed in the early morning light, had come slowly closer and closer as if to greet us. Skyscraper spindles scratched the bellies of the rosy clouds.

At the edge of the city she'd tossed the quarter again. The man and the eagle tumbled over each other. She'd set the coin back in the cupholder and had angled the steering wheel left. The Roman nosed man glared sullenly at the side of the container, silver face flashing in the early daylight. We'd continued on. Around us the city built itself; low buildings gave way to larger ones and the streets busied themselves with other cars and pedestrians. I'd caught sight of a homeless slumped against the side of a fence with his hood pulled low over his eyes. He'd looked up, as though he'd sensed the attention, and had given me a blank stare. Pockmarked face and longish black curls and a hooked nose. I'd turned away.

(incomplete)