Nightcrawlers is a game that takes place in a dark, creepy world full of strange creatures and hidden secrets. The player must use their wits to survive the night by exploring the world and solving puzzles.

Nightcrawlers is a new book by Lee Pitts. It is the first in a trilogy and follows the story of an unlikely trio who are forced to work together when they come across a mysterious object on their way home from college.

%E2%80%A2%E2%80%A2KEEP%E2%80%A2%E2%80%A2Lee-Pitts_MugLee Pitts is a columnist for The and Paso Robles Press who can be reached at [email protected].

I adore the evening. The more ominous, the better. I’d have been a fantastic night watchman or werewolf. Many individuals, known as noctiphobiacs, have a dread of the night. The most renowned was Thomas Edison, and it’s possible it was his motive for inventing the light bulb. He is believed to have failed over 1,000 times before getting the illumination just perfect. He must have been in desperate need of a nightlight.

Unlike the Indians, who were supposed to never travel at night, I’ve always like to travel at night. I traveled a minimum of 50,000 miles a year to cattle auctions for 40 years, and I’ve seen 48 states and would have visited 49 if there had been a good bridge to Hawaii. Every three years, I wore out a vehicle and drove six Oldsmobile Cutlasses into the ground until they were burning more oil than gasoline. I also loved Lincoln Town Cars, but they were tanks with an ocean liner-like turning radius. Furthermore, I think that you should never purchase a vehicle that you cannot push to the petrol station. I’ve only ever had one non-American-made car, and I was ashamed of it, so I wasn’t too disappointed when I walked out to the garage one day and it wasn’t there. I notified the loan firm that it had gone missing, but it turned out that they were the ones who had taken it.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m a night owl. My father was a long-haul “semi” driver, which means he only drove part of the time. Many a night was spent in my father’s KW, or Kenworth for you laypeople. Unlike my grandfather, I never needed those tiny white pills or a strong cup of coffee to remain awake. I was fine for 500 miles on one 32-ounce glass of fast-food iced tea, and it’s likely my bladder kept me awake.

One of the reasons I traveled so often at night was because I detested hotels and would sooner drive all night to get home than stay in one. I had to stop driving after my stroke five years ago, and I haven’t stayed in a hotel since. I may have stroked out sooner if I had realized the pleasures of remaining at home.

We’re going to get through this together, Atascadero


During the gas “crises,” I even slept in my vehicle rather than beneath another man’s blankets. Yes, there was a period in this nation when we couldn’t obtain fossil fuel, and anybody who lived through it will tell you that it was a terrible time in our country, with lengthy lines to get gas wrapping around several blocks—so good luck with the Green New Deal and eliminating all fossil fuel. I hope you have a good heater in your hybrid since sleeping in your vehicle at four a.m. may be pretty chilly.

At night, I loved how there were no mobile homes or police on the road. Because I couldn’t afford to purchase a “fuzz buster,” I accumulated tickets in almost every western state. My most memorable ticket came at three a.m. in Buena Vista, Colorado, when I blasted through the quiet town driving 20 miles above the speed limit. Because it was his first ticket, the policeman was trembling like a belly dancer’s castanets, and I almost had to write it for him.

I also like the nighttime camaraderie I felt with the truckers, and I enjoyed stopping at truck stops to look around, check out all the cool things in their shops, and fill up on chili beans with my fellow road agents. I never had a CB radio and instead listened to trucker radio, which was mainly filled with UFO sightings, conspiracy theories, and financial advice that was dubious at best.

Driving at night reminded me of the old days, when cowboys would take turns riding around the bedded bovines, singing filthy songs to prevent them from stampeding. I was a nomad, a “cowboy of the road,” and I loved the idea of working when the rest of the world was sleeping. I miss midnight, and every now and then I’ll get out of bed simply to howl with the coyotes to remind myself that night is the greatest time of day.

As an example:

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