Nighttime in Oklahoma City. Heat rises from the streets in invisible waves and cicadas buzzsaw in unknown numbers from unknown trees all around. All night, lonely drivers pull into the Whataburger on 50th and May or any of the 100 7-Elevens for a midnight refuel. Coffee, a burger. Maybe something stronger. They drive up and down the Expressway aimlessly, or maybe they pull onto the turnpike, unsure if they have $1.15 in exact change or not. They hope they do. No one knows what happens to those that don’t. Bricktown doesn’t fully empty out until 3 or 4 AM. The last stragglers from the bars and clubs furtively pull out onto I-35, drunken eyes searching for police cars.
Tungsten and fluorescent curtains drape over the sidewalks, except where the bulbs have burned out. South of Reno, the ‘DINER’ stays open all night long. No matter where you are, the Eye atop the Devon Tower stares at you. There are no monsters here that we have not created.
Oklahoma City at night is not a surreal experience. It is not eerie. It is lonely.