Night driving. Darkness shrouded everything, except the small piece of everything caught in the headlight. There was still some distance left to go, still so much ground to cover. How could there be so much everything? It all seemed overproportioned, somehow, as if the measurements were off by a magnitude or two

Then, the bridge. A narrow corridor of something in the midst of a whole lot of nothing, stars abound and around. Except, there, someone had painted something, on the bridge, in defiance of traffic and safety, possibly also of reason:

Beware, lest ye be spoiled by philosophers