Tail lights fade. Driving on a flat highway. Orange glow of a cigarette butt in the dark. Radio on a Chicago station. Tom Waits sings, The Piano’s Been Drinking. The music is turned down low. He sings along. Takes a drink of coffee and lights another cigarette. The road is clear.

He’s heading east now on I-80. The Chicago station has been lost in the air, and small-town Indiana stations take over. There’s a woman he longs to see in Detroit. Or, is it Philadelphia? He can’t remember anymore. It’s been so long.

When did I see her last? He asks himself. Nineteen ninety-eight on New Year’s Eve. He laughs. She kissed him. He held on tightly. Arms around her curvy waist. Her blonde hair under his chin. It was Philadelphia, he says. And keeps on driving.

Happy New Year.