The highway at 2 AM is the most honest place I know. No masks, no performances—just people suspended between where they were and where they’re going. A man in the backseat tonight wept silently, staring out at the passing lights. He didn't know I saw. I didn't offer tissues or platitudes; I just turned the music down a fraction. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is bear witness to a stranger's truth without needing to own any piece of it. The road holds all our secrets.