It’s about 2 AM, driving home from Washington DC. I am more exhausted than I would care to admit. To this day, I have no idea how I didn’t fall asleep and drive off the road. We’re in Stark, I think, or one of those scary places north of Gainesville. The windows are down and it’s November, so the wind bites but helps to keep us both awake, too. Passenger, by the Deftones is playing painfully loud. We’re singing Maynard’s lines at the tops of our lungs, like the giddy involuntary insomniacs we were.