There's something about 5 a.m. Vacant. Stripped. Delightfully devastating. It's a uniquely vulnerable time when one can admit anything and not be responsible for it.
The rising sun doesn't mind if you need a few more moments in shadow. The sparsely populated roads are forgiving. The empty passenger side seat doesn't care that you're in love. And, anyway, it's only a few hours' sleep away from being a dream. A vague recollection of insight swiftly swept aside in favor of more pressing matters: determining where the bedding ends and your limbs begin, relieving an aching bladder, prepping the first of many caffeine injections.