Two Listeners and a Truck Driver at 3 AM

overnight show. two listeners steady. truck driver called about loneliness. talked until he reached his exit. radio is intimacy without faces. loneliness is the format's shadow. the on-air light glowed like a small sun only i could see from the booth. a song request came in for someone far away who said thanks like i did them a personal favor. overnight shift makes time elastic. two listeners or two thousand, the mic asks for the same sincerity. station coffee tasted like regret and burnt bean. i read wire copy between tracks and pretended the world was orderly for four minutes. loneliness is part of the format and also the audience sometimes. dawn through the studio window looked like forgiveness. the on-air light glowed like a small sun only i could see from the booth. a song request came in for someone far away who said thanks like i did them a personal favor. overnight shift makes time elastic. two listeners or two thousand, the mic asks for the same sincerity.

Overnight show. Two listeners steady. A truck driver called about loneliness. We talked until he reached his exit.

Radio is intimacy without faces. Loneliness is the format's shadow.

I played a song he requested. Did not say it would fix anything.

Overnight hosting is presence as a service. You may never learn the ending. You still answer.

The story continues in the body after the words stop. Shoulders lower, or they do not. Tomorrow arrives with its own list. I am still here, which is not nothing.

I do not need a moral. I need an honest next step. Sometimes that is rest. Sometimes it is showing up again before you feel ready.

The story continues in the body after the words stop. Shoulders lower, or they do not. Tomorrow arrives with its own list. I am still here, which is not nothing.

I do not need a moral. I need an honest next step. Sometimes that is rest. Sometimes it is showing up again before you feel ready.

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