2am and I was pushing myself to make it through Nebraska before dawn. The road stretched on forever; it was just me and the radio burning miles of flat flat flat nothing. “On a dark, desert highway,” it began, “cool wind in my hair”. “I LOVE this song!” I said to the empty passenger seat and sang as the night pressed in. “Warm smell of colitas … rising up through the air … up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light …” I stopped singing and changed the channel abruptly, getting something painful in a polka. I felt better … safer. Some songs are more like spells; you gotta be careful what you sing in the dark on the open road to Anything that might be listening.