I'm ready for my 365-word close-up, Mr. deMetassus ...

oOo

It's late and you're tired and you wish you were at home and the rain doesn't know if it's spitting or hissing because it's not enough to wet the wipers but too much to ignore as it blurs and smears the reflections of the cars coming against you on the dark road until it moves towards the town and the lights are all sodium and mercury glows that don't do much except show you where the road lies as all the sensible people are already at home except for just the one or two that emerge from a fast food joint that you would really love to visit right now as the mere thought of something to eat sets your tummy rumbling like a distant growl of thunder on a hot summer night but then it strikes you as deeply ironic that it is really is a summer night and so damn cold and miserable that you twist the control on the heater up a notch or two to take the chill out of your soul as the SUV in front of you nears the red traffic light and stops.

That song comes on the radio.

So rich ... so emotional ... so evocative ...

For one long, immaculate moment, you're a movie star. The street lights twinkle with blue neon. The world expands into glorious technicolor cinemascope as you toss your head in slo-mo, a look of glamour and distance etched on your noble brow.

This is your moment.

Your voice blends with the song, as diamond droplets of rain sparkle for you. This is that one true glorious moment of destiny: the audience gasps as the lead actor finally receives his justified reward, and the lead actress swoons lovingly into his strong arms forever. The music swoops and soars to a triumphant crescendo, your voice pitched perfectly, all the cameras closing in on you, loving your -- BEEEEEEEEEEP!

Uh? The SUV is gone and the lights are green as you gesture an apology to the impatient driver behind you waving his fist while you spin your wheels trying to pull away and your face gets hot with embarrassment and there's still miles and miles to go ...

oOo