Daylight Savings

DAYLIGHT SAVINGS



It had been the week in October to turn the clocks back an hour and it was the time of day when it became prematurely dark for the first time and all one had were foreboding thoughts. It was Friday, and the work was done for the week, and when he had left the office, the night had fallen. A week earlier, the drive home had been all pinkish-orange hue sunset, anticipation, good fortune, green thoughts, and wistful determination. Today it was blue-black, with faint, scraggly lines of red clouds at the extreme horizon. The summer was finished and autumn had kicked the door open. Autumn had held a gun to summer’s head and blew its brains all out at the far, far end of the sky. And he was driving in his car, driving home from work, and he knew it would be a long time before there would be good cheer. And he knew love, formerly at an arm’s length, would continue to elude and cheat and fool, like a plastic worm at the end of a fishing pole.
He was ten minutes away from work, thirty minutes from home, when he saw the highway illuminate into a deep and severe red. Five minutes after crawling along at the speed of a dying deer, a sign appeared which informed him that it would be sixty minutes until he arrived home. He took out an American Spirit from a drink holder in between the two front seats. He turned up his stereo and rolled down the windows as his car rolled to a stop. He flicked the lighter.
“This is going to be a long night,” he said to himself.