He usually waits at the window. A paranoid old man, basically. He’s probably waiting for the usual: snowstorms, drunk drivers, murderers. Mummies, zombies, who knows? Headlights are relieving things, at least when you recognize them. They’re as close to eyes as you’re going to get when driving. The headlights in the driveway now are recognizable. Everyone is good for the day. Cut that engine. Go to bed. Get that poison out of the air. Oh well. Time enough to be afraid again tomorrow.