A Night on the Inte
Rose Haskell
Exits and interchanges looped across the
night sky like the silent, stony arms of some enormous
alien sculpture. What had, in daylight, been a
bustling thoroughfare filled with the comforting
mundanity of honking horns and steadily blinking
turn signals now stood abandoned, thick fog
slowly encroaching upon its sharp, lonely silence.
The flickering orange haze of the street lamps
coalesced with the dusky purple sky beyond the
freeway, humanity’s harsh, fluorescent chaos
reconciled at last with the soft, eerie whispers of
the night sky.
It was art, she thought—art in its purest,
most guttural form, those monstrous cement
slabs curling around each other in stark, still
solitude. Another of mankind’s clumsy, haphazard
attempts to ingrain its existence on the universe.