It’s 2:30 am, the witching hour normally reserved for caffeine-fueled policemen and bored cashiers at the 24-hour McDonald’s or gas station. And I’m getting ready for work. 
Joy-infused water is brewing in the background as I browse Facebook updates ranging from how my nephew’s doing post-surgery to how the Confederate rebel flag is a terrible symbol and should be taken down. 

 
Maybe I’ll stop at the gas station shoppette for an additional cup of Java to face the day. And I’ll share a knowing look with the attendant, or perhaps a yawn.

The things I do for a paycheck!