Interstate 95

Late at night, as commuters sleep, our infamous river of congested concrete welcomes vehicles as a junkie does a fix. Windows down. Stereo blasting. The ethereal glow of street lamps. The wind a soothing subtropical balm. In the quiet wee hours, I-95's engineered beauty emerges, unclogged and serene. Inviting. The southbound HOV flyover, high above the Golden Glades interchange, presents a magical panorama: an endless carpet of lights, a brooding horizon, the glimmering skyline of downtown Miami. You are approaching Oz. At 75 miles per hour. With virtually no one else in sight.