The night is as still as it ever is in the city.

Cars buzz to and forth, like rushed bugs hurrying to escape. Exchanges are done in whispers and husky voices in the alleys of looming buildings and the shade of spindly trees. A loud coughing can be heard in the distance.

The same cans litter the streets and the same lights flash to signal a passing.

The silence of the city is never a complete and total silence. Never the silence of sitting in a room without a sound, but more of the silence of constant chatter and beeping; where it all eventually blends into a familiar, white noise.

Sleepers and creepers are scattered like lost pieces of a forgotten game board. Some hurrying and panicked to get away from something, some awaiting a boy they haven’t seen in years.

And some simply sleeping that half awake sleep they’ve grown used to due to the hours of their tedious job.

The moon stretches across it all, watching, waiting, absorbing.

Up in an immaculate loft, a sleeping young woman stirs.