Source

The night is very dark, the air very still. Two men are standing on the side of a lonesome road. The road has no name, not even a number. Neither do the men. They do not know each other, but they have been standing there for some time. Neither one can remember how long, or who had been there first, but they are certain it has been some time. Miles and miles down the road in one direction, a faint glow marks the horizon, like the radiation of city lights off clouds on a snowy winter night. Miles and miles down the road in the other direction, staccato bursts of lightning punctuate the black night like machine gun fire.
A horse with wings but no head immerges from the gloomy abyss and follows the road past the two men. “Low on petrol” it says, before troting away into the darkness in the direction of the faint glow. The two men look at each other.
“I was never born. You were never Here.”
“So where am I?”
“Not Here, that is for certain.”
“Well, I have to be somewhere.”
“I’m sure you do, but it is not Here.”
“But if I am not here then where can I be? I can’t be anywhere but here! I am always here!”
“Hey man, I was never born. How do you think that makes me feel?”
The men look away from each other. A great deal of time passes before the horse with wings but no head appears again, out of the murky night. It walks past the two men, pauses. “Wrong way” it says, and continues into oblivion.