I walk the night. It’s a place of wonder and moonshine and animal eyeshine. When I’m out there in it, in a world rippling with headlight beams and glittering lawns swept by fogs of pure noir, there’s a mighty feeling. Planes of obsidian seem to take off in all directions, and walking is like inhabiting the dark, shimmering laws of physics itself. It’s a place blessedly free of interruptions, too. When they do come, they can be exhilarating and scary, and almost always anodyne.
Of course, I’m a Caucasian man, and that underpins everything. I walk without any real fear, and in the early summer, here in suburban eastern Pennsylvania, I freely suck in the scents of lilac and viburnum. When a police officer drives by, he might wave at me...