The night is like warm velvet around them. The stars, burning diamond in the cloudless sky, turn the road beneath their feet a silver grey. The University and Imre are the hearts of understanding and art, the strongest of the four corners of civilization. Here on the road between the two there is nothing but old trees and long grass bending to the wind. The night is perfect in a wild way, almost terrifyingly beautiful.

The three boys, one dark, one light, and one-for lack of a better word-fiery, do not notice the night. Perhaps some part of them does, but they are young and drunk, and busy knowing deep in their hearts that they will ever grow old or die. They also know that they are friends, and they share a certain love that will never leave them. The boys know many other things, but none of them seem as important as this. Perhaps they are right.

The Name of the Wind. By Patrick Rothfuss, pg 412, chapter 59

What Patrick describes here is that one perfect night in your twenties, when you and your buddies are coming home from a night on the town.

The only missing part of the description is a Waffle House.