There’s something about the city that I can only sense at night. It’s its smell. Not the one that you might smell during the day, a mixture of bad perfumes, flowers, sewage and exhaust fumes. It’s the scent that conveys how night envelops the city, a smell of love as blackness pervades its streets, an ease of seduction as cool night air infuses the residents’ lungs.

Sleeping Woman

I fall asleep for a few hours only to wake up at about two a.m. I had thought this city was barren, stripped of its musical vibrations, but now, the feel of it just proves me wrong. As I lay in bed my senses are as vulnerable as they get, and the night invades my every cell.

My sweet home town isn’t silent tonight. I can hear the rhythmic song of crickets and birds. This amalgam of sounds reminds me of summer nights spent awake back when I was anxiously awaiting to turn 10. So every now and then, when my city sings, it’s a real treat. Its usual repertoire involves the screech of car brakes, and the sound of tracks cracking under the weight of fleeting trains.

The rare event of a car passing on the street crates a game of lights. The car lights intertwined with the glow of the street lamp cast animated shapes through the drapes and onto the bedroom wall. I follow them, but they fade as quickly as they take shape.

Cool night air blows in through the window. I breathe it in and savor it as it envelops me and tickles my every nerve. It covers my skin and gently presses my body like a satin sheet. My city is still alive and its sweet breath holds me tight…

I’d normally get up and look through the window, surprised by the faces in the street at this hour. Instead, I lay my head down and fall asleep in my city’s embrace.