In the middle of Bargersville, you'll find nothing but a Hispanic family grocery store, a neighborhood consisting of four houses, and a Burger King.
It was midnight, and that meant it was time for the streetlights to shine: lazy, with a half-hearted orange glow that hardly stretched down to the pavement-gravel roads. There were almost never cars and when there were, the impossible crunch of dusty gravel made being furtive quite the experience. People considered this a safe tactic, listening for gravel to sign a newcomer, because everyone, intelligently, walked.
The air conditioning was broken in the fast-food restaurant but luckily for the single employee on staff, the night was cool enough that if one opened the windows it would suffice. It was never busy enough here for the kitchen to cause a cloud of heat, and thus, no problem, meant no drive to call a maintenance guy.
It was quiet. But at least there was the company of the radio with a single station and the soft buzz of flies.