Insomniac Radio

They kept the TV on the patio set to the oldies station at night.

Clouds of smoke and the perfume of nicotine and coffee permeated the air.

“Young Turks” by Rod Stewart would play a lot. So would “Centerfield” by John Fogerty.

The gentleman from Atlanta liked to sing along to John Fogerty, his platinum bouffant swaying in the Florida breeze. G was a big fan of Rod Stewart, her sweet, husky voice harmonizing along, her cigarette rasp.

You could smell the Cheerios or Fruit Loops permeating from the styrofoam bowls, beads of 2% milk sticking to the metal tables on the patio. Midnight snacks for insomniacs who couldn’t sleep.

Beneath the haze of phosphorescent lights on the patio, we’d sing along to the radio, our cigarettes burning, our vocal cords aching. Always there’d be a second wind before sleep fought off against insomnia, but then the radio was always so sweet with its nostalgia.