No, I love it outside at night. Especially on my street. You know those guys who hang out all day against their cars – night falls and they be driving crazy like it's a street race against time itself just to get to the end of the street. They be going back and forth, back and forth, all hours of the evening. By then it's late and there's not much else going on, so everybody either inside bothered by it, or outside watching it. I'm always out there. It's like a little impromptu block party spurred on by obnoxiousness or bravery and stupidity in equal measure. Open bottles, music with the bass pumping so loud I can't hear the lyrics to sing along if I wanted to, and whoever heard of a fucking muffler anyway? Those cars roar. That friend of mine, with his key in the ignition, best known for bad decisions and good times. Me, half impressed, half shaking my head. For however long it last. 'Til something bad happen. 'Til the police come bust it up or 'til somebody crash it. The car or the situation. Drive only a few letters short of a drive-by.