***
In the dead of night when the homeless denizens of the day crawl into their cardboard homes and the streets clear out of the 9-5 weekend warriors, something magical happens. its hard to explain but when you are making your way around the stillness of the once crampped city and the wind is rushing by, nostalgic music of your youth is blaring in your ear, and the streets are dead as far the eye can see, you feel like you can cry, laugh and call out all at once. you no longer care about the john's circling blocks for hookers, girly boys, or trannys who are just looking for money for their next fix. you dont care about who mugged who, who killed who, or who raped that poor young woman in an open alcove while able bodied people walked by in apathy. it is you and the night. it is you as owner of all you survey. it is something, as said before, magical. something special. you know that in opening up to these emotions and showing them outward that you could just as easily become a victim as any other poor sod that was a victim of circumstance. it is the fact that you are on the edge of something that makes the freedom of the night worth so much more.