Loneliness

In those days the television slept, a static image of an Indian, a flag, or the blizzard of electronic snow that one might get lost in...but before that--and after:  after the late, late show, the black and movie made before you were born--there was the national anthem, loud and swelling, an unnerving militaristic lullaby sung by a faceless choir as the jets of the failing empire sped and spun in the buoyant atmosphere of our patriotic zeal...that was the way that the television would end our artificial company, by refusing to stay awake and participate in the insomniac's vigil...

and there was nothing so suffocating in its solitude as those first five minutes after the smooth (reminiscent if not familiar) voice of my would-be sojourner established the limitations of our friendship: "We are at the end of our broadcast day..."