I am stuck at an intersection coming off of a sleepy side street onto the main thoroughfare during rush hour. No one in Vegas will let up to allow me in but I don’t care: I’ve got all damn day, and I’ve grown so accustomed to intersections, whether in a car or not. I am content to just sit here in limbo since it’s such a familiar spot. One top of that, no one is behind me, so I’m just like, whatevah, la-di-da, que sera. I turn on the radio and watch the endless stream of cars, like so many forgone opportunities. I think of those fiery balls of color in a Roman candle, tearing into the sky, one by one, with a piercing whistle and a trail of light but then fizzling out. Still, people keep making those things. And there are always shooting stars.