It is a lie to say that a city never sleeps. Even "the city that never sleeps" has its rest. There may be people who are awake, cars that still move, or lights that continue to flicker but, nonetheless, the city is asleep. It is unknown as to when exactly this time begins but a sense of knowing settles onto those who are aware. The gates of stores are pulled down. The sky may be dark or growing paler in the early morning hours. The street lights are lit down the nearly empty streets.
It is lonely. For those who are awake-the exceptions, the vivid dreams in a peaceful night-all feels empty around them. Walking through the city's calmness, there is a sense of melancholy. Time seems to have stopped yet it remains moving for the conscious. The hands on the clock do not stop spinning.
It is neither vitalizing nor tiring to traverse the dreams of the city. It breathes in long sighs. The wind picks up, then returns to a breeze. The eyes of the city are closed gently as the clouds lightly layer the sky. There is no intensity in the city. One is simply left alone.
