Night owl

Who can sleep when you're literally twitching with anticipation?

No sir, not I. Big day later on today. Bigger day on Sunday.

Sometimes I wish there were more things to do in this strange town after the sun sets. 'Round here, humming neon signs on even the most incognito coffee shops cease lumination around 10 pm. The shopping mecca ushers out last-minute clientele and locks it's doors at 9. Even the McDonalds has a closing time, unlike the big city 24-hour ones.

Some nights, it really takes a creative mind to survive a place like this. Clubs will only entertain you for so long. And strip clubs? Fuggedaboutit! Of the 2 or 3 that line the skeeviest part of the downtown core, only 1 has decent peelers and that's only because they truck 'em in from Vancouver with the promise of a dental plan. The most textbook hang-out spots for the voluntary insomniacs simply do not suffice for people like me.

So, what does a disenchanted gal like myself do on a mundane Friday night? Drink burnt tasting coffee at an all-night diner. Eavesdrop on the conversations of compelling people who also let the night breathe life into them. Cruise the less populated world without worrying about activating the turn signals - there's simply no one else around.

Sure, it lacks the frenzy I sometimes long for, but it's mellow in it's deserted state. Calming, almost. It's the kind of world where you can float on late-night anonymity if you want to. Is this how truckers feel? If so, I might just have to invest in a Peterbilt.