Nightfall. The sun leaves behind an artery-red smear in the purples and maroons of the sky. X pulls off to the shoulder and into a gas station. Outside the chrome shell, the sound of the highway is much louder. The tires hum like cicadas, the engines rattle. A car horn sounds and echoes off the water, returning emptied of anger. Y cranes their neck around the bend in the road, as it ascends up the mountain. At the top there is a solitary red light, blinking. The cars climb up the mountain, inch by inch, but get no closer. As frozen as the dim star they try to reach.