When midnight approaches, my thoughts twist and whirl and blend together into dark matter. So much is possible in the night, you can feel it's there. But you can't prove it.
People emerge in the darkness, they creep from their daytime containers. They've dusted off their round rabbit hats and their red pants, puffed their hair or flattened it. I spy green shoes and sparkles and nose rings and eavesdrop talk about tear-drop skirts and wide stripes.
The city sings weird and bristly at night. Perhaps when I'm even older than I am now, I will piece together the meaning of it all.