Out there searching. / Out here fumbling. Out here waiting
The 20 mile per hour wind may be humid, but at least it's cold. 20 degrees Fahrenheit might not seem like much of a chill, but it's enough tonight to flash freeze the ditches full of last night's rain. The mud reflects the diffused light from the cloud deck only 1500 feet above, which in turn is lit by every sparse streetlamp in my little town, along with the fullest, biggest moon of the year, that I can't see. In the doggiest town I've ever known, I've not laid eyes on a single canine all night.
The radio is so quiet that I periodically turn it up, and when someone finally does speak up, it blares annoyingly. I turn it back down, and then go through the same cycle.
I'm the only car on the streets. The occasional rig tending oil wells does trundle through town, and I leave them be.
I'm just looking for that right stop. The guy burgling cars. The drunk side-swiping parked vehicles, while trying to get home. The runaway 14 year old sneaking out to meet her new Internet boyfriend ("...so dreamy. He's 29!") at the street corner. Something to give tonight's patrol some meaning.
It's fruitless, and feels futile.
The goal is to work ourselves out of a job, I guess.
I sure could go for some coffee. But it's getting too close to the end of the shift, and bed time.