The streetlights flicker through there cycles to the ghost cars of the night. 
The warm winter air blows through the open window as I drive and tickles the very root of my existance.
A simple pleasure, no expectations, just Geronimo down the rabbit hole.
As I laugh out the window in the darkness, the stars shining bright.
The spirits of the night my only audience.
It was just what I needed, nothing more, nothing less.  
The simplicity of Geronimo, and the freedom of the night. 

By Matthew branton