Nothing but static
I was listening to local station 89.7 KFJC and thinking about the midnight scenery strolling past my car windows. Hangar 1 at Moffett Field grew and shrank as a shadow. I had just dropped off Jay at his hotel — I’m just freshly Californian and already I’m the host. How long, I mused, until the things around me lose their newness, and my eyes relax their fervent attempts to catalog everything they perceive? Sign. Tree. Exit. Building. Sign. Tree. The radio was playing some out there hip hop based sound collages, and I wondered if I could call in and request Doomtree. I have the CD. I could just listen, but what if, I pondered, I could drag a little bit of my hometown out for someone else?
I turned on to Rengstorff and crested the overpass. “The Wren,” by Doomtree, came on the air. I got home. Engine off.
The car cooled and ticked arrhythmically, but I couldn’t hear over the song fading to a hissing hush.