Seated at the back and black corner of a bar, small flickerings of red glass-light contain themselves within translucent shells of volcano candles. They are too passive a gang on dark tables contemplating my boredom. They serve our temporary needs to visualize at night.so many of us take their quiet radiance for granted. I wonder about my evenings and the continual secrecy that adorns them. I can only guess that they might match other people’s time spent wishing privately.