It's loud in Prince George this evening and I can't sleep. In the other room, Anson is making loud noises. Either he's arguing with someone over Skype or he's playing Counterstrike. Black noise snaking into my bedroom. Meanwhile, outside in the city, a cacophony street races blare through my window. Tagged throughout the city with sketchy graffiti is "4:20 racing". This is what I've dubbed these early morning road battles, the 4:20 races. You never see the cars, but you hear the tires squeal like bats. The end of the races are punctuated by police sirens or the chimes of broken glass and corkscrew metal. I can think of better late night lullabyes.
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1 comment:
weeeell you're never gonna get it
who needs sleep?
tell me, what's that for?
who needs sleep?
well you're never gonna get it!
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