After the bars are closed and the restaurants shut down. After the last of the fluorescent disappears into darkness and all that’s left are a few neon beacons on what were once crowded streets, I hear wind created by cars, tires strumming pavement, and I think of that night—one such as this—with our backs against the brick wall in the alley, the shared flame of my Zippo, and the quick brush of your fingers along mine.
