I drove to the cliff, stopped and had a smoke. I stepped out and inhaled the night air, the fresh aroma of pine trees mixed with herbs. Although the cicadas would not begin their chorus until an ambient temperature triggers their rites, the frogs were having a ball.
Above, the night sky, studded with stars and a crescent moon; below, the edge of the cliff. I imagined my car flying down the steep rocks. Bang, Crash, End. The twinkling lights along the shoreline promised a jolly soirée. I sighed, and returned to the car. Tonight is too nice to die.