dísætt

Night driving southward again, about to climb the long, barely-tipped slope from the lake. Music is still resounding in my head, and the conductor still jumps and gesticulates in my mind's eye, but I am almost sleepy.

But no coffee for me, thank you. I'll have a chocolate bar instead, one of those with the shredded coconut center. Its surface is chalky with cocoa butter -- god knows how long it's languished in that gas station. That's hardly the point. Under the pitiable chocolate is the white I am looking for. It is so sweet in my mouth that it is cold, and now I am alert again with sugar flashing through my brain.