So this is spontaneity. Like spontaneous combustion. There we are in our pyjamas, sitting in the car and up there is the flying thing, something lit-up and travelling through the night sky. A balloon or a blimp or some other kind of craft. We watch the road and we watch the sky as we chase the flying thing sailing above the town, traffic thrumming with more and more people driving out to see this thing. No one knowing exactly what they are looking at and why, and where they are going this late in their nightclothes and slippershoes. Are we being serious? We’re all too tired to work it out. All these people out in their cars chasing this airborne thing we’ve suddenly noticed – happened to look up and see, we did not read about it on the internet, we were not alerted by text message. It was not on the television. This is what is so exciting. It could be anything. It could be what we’ve all been waiting for. And as we reach the edge of town we ask each other whether we should go any further, i.e. how far do we take this spontaneous chase on which we have embarked, about which we know nothing? Are we being serious? Some of the other cars are stopping and turning around, the people have given up and are heading back home to their beds. But some – including us, the pyjamaed two of us in this car – press on, suddenly full of sincerity. Past the edge of town and up into the hills. We have come too far now to give up on this thing. If we turned back now what would have been the point? That thing up there in the sky could be something real, our hearts swell to the point of bursting with the thrill of discovering or not, our hearts swell to the point of bursting just with the sheer thrill of chasing. We drive on, thinking about the people that have given up and turned back. Are we somehow better than them because we carried on going? Does it show determination or desperation? Maybe they didn’t really need to know, maybe we are weaker because we need to find out about this thing. We argue this point back and forth until the words are quivering wrecks vibrating in the air between the driver’s side and the passenger side, and then they just combust and the night breaks into spontaneous laughter and the realisation that we probably won’t ever find out what this thing in the sky is, no matter how far we follow it.