It stands guard over its stretch of interstate.  A tired sentry praying for relief not wanting to abandon its post.  Riders on the horizon, their silhouettes in the waning moonlight drawing near, bring it to its feet.  It yells out a second too late.  The screech of rubber on the asphalt, the shattering of glass, and the gnarled song of metal embracing metal at eighty mph awakens the surrounding landscape.  Gawkers, onlookers, and disaster junkies slow down for a look speculating as to how and why.  They shake their heads and wonder where the warning went.