I think we have revived an old tradition. The night drive.

When we lived in the horrid Valley of the Sun, we would drive at night all over said valley. It was too fucking hot to sleep, and we lacked air conditioning in our apartment. We had it in the car.

We discovered wondrous things. We found out that at night in the outskirts of the suburbs, the orange orchards smelled of orange blossoms in the late spring. We discovered that there is a church in the north part of the city that looks like a beached UFO at night. We discovered that there are an amazing array of hookers on Van Buren at night, and you'd best lock your doors. We discovered that the Papago Park freeway is an oasis of cool and green in the middle of the summer night. We discovered that you can drive through thunderstorms and enjoy the lightening display and flash flooding. Those are things we loved.

Last night, we were agitated and not willing to sleep. We were bored, and not willing to watch fireworks on TV, despite the invitation to do so, very kind. So we drove. As Kman put it, we circumnavigated. We saw a man tailgaiting us to the point of absurdity. We saw an adorable modified Honda Civic with a right-hand drive. We saw fireworks on the water of Lake Washington as we drove by. We saw the city from the 99, which we love. And will lose eventually. We saw fireworks right by the road when we approached Lake Union. We smelled the night air, damp and full of gunpowder. We saw trees shadowy against the night sky.

We returned home ready to settle in. Full of a strange sense of accomplishment. It was still warm, for here, but not opressive. The neighborhood was still in full swing, and the sky sounded like it was farting, and the cats were hiding, but we were home.

I cracked a bottle of champaigne- the one that we didn't drink on election night, as two bottles would've been regrettable, and we sipped a bit in celebration of our epic drive. I hope we do more of those.