2: City life is still strong, clubs reek with the boom chee boom chee boom, beats of a forgotten culture. The suburbs are quite now, families of four tucked into their beds, their Streets are post-apocalyptically barren. Snails drape the sidewalks because they believe they're protected under the shadows of night. A few cars on the freeway, search for somewhere to return.
3: In the city, drunken bodies drag themselves to find the nearest form of shelter, throwing shouts of gin and tonic to anyone who would let them be heard. A teenage girl sneaks back into her white house with a picket fence, hopping to God her parents don't wake up. Truck drivers route their way, trying to make it through the night.
4: The world seems to be resting. the distant hum of a car and faint sound of crickets are the only things in the air, but neither of them can be found. Four is my favorite hour. Walking the streets it is only you, it makes the world seem, in a way, that it is especially yours. Reality seems to be frozen, until that one car comes to breaks the trance. A world free from others cannot last.
5: The commuters shuffle into their cars to make their way to a sustainable future. The eyes of the world flicker open, still containing a haze of sleep. The world that was simply yours begins to gain occupants, slowly the sun rises lifting sleep from it followers. We have regained consciousness, the world seems less special. Until the next night my friend, until the next night.