I love cities during the night time. I don’t have many pictures of them, like Rome at night, with the lights and the quiet streets (ha, quiet, as if in Rome…) or on the way home from a pub in London, the tall buildings with small lit windows up and down. Montreal’s loud and bright streets on a Saturday night, or the quiet, only-lit-by-windows streets on the way to the tea shop for nutella croissants. Peru’s unbelievable, silent but thunder cavern of Kuscos, four am, soaking wet, lightening in the distance but the entire city golden from a hue of light in the centre, and the hills surrounding covered in small pin-pricked window-lit homes, houses, with meditations, early risers, young children presumeably up to see the amazing sight below. It seems as thugh frequent inhabitants of cities take for granted the graceful beauty of a city lit at night.
I was leaving Toronto last week after a show and it was night and I looked up at the passing buildings and just need to be there, you know? Were I live now there aren’t any surroundings that come close to the beautiful adrenaline of being surrounded by hustle and bustle of a lively city. Its a breathlessness that strengthens you in some way. It is comforting to know that the light is there despite the quiet of night.
Maybe this is all some kind of silly, absent-minded realization of the rest of the world, but for me something awakens in the brightness of a city in the dark, and that something awakens in me everytime I am inside of such an intoxicating vicinity. Have I mentioned that I miss being a tourist? Mainly London. I miss the city.