At night, the streets take over a role that it is impossible to achieve during the day. And while the sky is lit, nobody takes them into account. It is up to the sky goes off, the streets come to the fore, and his gray asphalt becomes part of a thousand and one stories.
Driving at night has a certain charm that day racing suffers. When the sun goes away, it carries the most annoying aspects of driving: the heat, congestion and traffic police. A change leaves avenues and streets devoid of cars and pedestrians, irradiated with orange and green lights for public lighting as well as the outrageous multicolored neon signs. At the corners, amber and ruby \u200b\u200blights take over the emerald while sleeping the sleep of the righteous.
The city at night has its own rhythms and hotness. The shops are closed during the day and the premises have been closed for the day they open their doors to customers eager to release tension accumulated during the previous hours. In those places so full of passion, music and color, weave the most varied and original novels featuring characters at once generic and unique. Whoever stands in front of these places will be seduced or repelled, but never indifferent.
But if the city traffic at night is like an adrenaline rush, the car on the highway made driving at night can be hypnotic, almost mystical. While the mother is characterized by wasting light on the provincial highway the only available light the lanterns themselves are often and others. Green Day landscape becomes a black curtain that blends into the darkness of the heights. Outer space no longer seems so far away and crossed seems plausible and normal.
darkness envelops everything, but some bodies may contain a light that pierce the dense mantle. Small villages perched on hillsides march quietly out of my windows as constellations of stars. Weather full of light appear out of nowhere and headed toward me at a dizzying momentum, changing direction just before colliding. As they go crashing to my side, I can see them become suburban buses for a few seconds before disappearing, eaten by the blackness.
Lacking of sunlight to measure the passing of the hours, time slows to a stop, turned into a solid amalgam of hours and minutes. Also the point of origin and destination are the same: abstract notions meaningless. All that matters is the here and now while browsing through the cosmos to thirty inches of soil.
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