Up All Night

Why do I have such empathy for businesses after they close?

I don't mean the metaphysical business but the actual concrete building after everyone has gone home and all the lights are turned off.

I looked at a webcam of the City Union today. The inside empty of all life. The few visible tables and chairs unmanipulated and forgotten. No human eyes have seen these for hours and none will for a few more.

This applies to every building that closes. I walked by work a few nights ago. The arcade machine playing the same high scores screen, the bust of Ceasar looking blankly into the windiw, the soda fountain resting upon the counter without any kind of interaction.

I felt pity for these things. Not to the core of my being but on a noticable level. These objects need people. These pbjects were designed for people. Yet, for now, I covet them. They are mine, or at least mine as much as anyone elses.

Of all the objects I try to give emotions, none can be more forlorn than the after-hours Open sign. Whenever I see one of these, I know the most likely reason is when the time to go home finally arrived some employee or employer was so primed to go home that every other light in the store was turned off except this one.

So it hangs in the window, doing the only thing it was designed to do. Casting it's false message to anybody who drank too much coffee or smoked too much meth or loved someone too much.

This is the world I live in and love. I like that this town sleeps. I like being a silent scientist of the anomolies of the night. Recording every off beat and off line. No two nights or hearts are the same. And it all becomes a little clearer in the dark.