you can spend the night forever

If you’re out late enough time loses its meaning. After the last of the evening traffic fades into empty streets, the buses stop running, and only the occasional taxi rumbles by the window, glancing at your watch becomes a useless act because the difference between one hour and the next means nothing. I suppose it is a symptom of the city that some people stay up all night, forget the sun, and ask questions of empty bottles and the moonlight. No matter what time it is somewhere is open, someone is out, and there’s always something to do.

“Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherised upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells;

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question. . . .

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

Let us go and make our visit.”

-excerpt from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot


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