Hi again. When Matt and I lived in Washington, D.C, we were often on the road late at night. A few times a year, we’d drive back to Massachusetts to visit our families and usually this meant leaving work at 6 p.m., packing up the car, and driving for eight or so hours straight up 95, trying not to wake our parents when we got in. At this time of year, it was always closer to a ten-hour drive, the roads clogged with people like us. I usually found these late-night drives romantic in theory and difficult in practice, but he loved them unequivocally. When I think about those drives now, I think about being alone on a small scenic route north of New York City, quiet, headlights on the highway, Matt cracking a window every so often to smoke a cigarette.