Afternoons turn into evenings. The sun makes its way into hiding once again. Then, as it does every night, darkness hovers for hours as people watch TV, sleep, drink beers, make love, drive from one end of the country to the other. All by the shimmering light that is the moon and stars.

Some folks curse night. It scares them. Like a child in bed thinking a monster is underneath. Whore’s that walk up and down Grand Avenue yell at the dark. Waking up to another day of selling their souls. And, there are those that are lost in daylight. Night is there only salvation. They savor it through cups of coffee, shots of booze, lunches packed by their wives for third shift, dope that runs through black veins.

Night time was when he was born. Mother had him at two o’clock in the morning. Came out of the womb wailing like Miles Davis. She held him. Gave him comfort. The father was no where around.

He was a gambler. Took risks with his life. Driving around the country in his eighteen wheeler. Named her, Jezebel. The young buck had a girl in every city. Told em they were special, only to never call or see them again. That was the case of Brandy. He sized her up good at the strip joint. The trucker knew deep down she was lonely. He knew she wanted him.

She gave him a lap dance in the dark with curtains closed. Her eyes were shut as she rode upon him; bare flesh rubbing on blue jeans. He decided he wanted her. All of her. She obliged; and for one night, the curvy girl felt something. Least she thought she did.

Come morning, he was gone. Didn’t leave a note, a name, nothing. Just a condom wrapper on the night stand. She awoke to the sun creeping through her blinds. She was alone.

Brandy became scared of the night. She took the dayshift at Showgirls to avoid the moon. Stayed home at night watching old movies. And crying. Yelling at the dark.

The child was born at night time. ‘Bout the same time he was conceived. She was reminded every day of the trucker and that night. The night she felt special.