Who says the city never sleeps? Last night, walking home past 1AM to East Harlem from 113th Street and Frederick Douglas Boulevard, I went block after block with barely anyone in sight save the odd amorous couples on the benches on Central Park North, and a couple of people sauntering in the opposite direction. Once past the park, I saw no-one at all until 106th Street and 3rd Avenue. No one at all. I felt by myself in the city, but not all alone: the weight of all the people behind windows was with me.
The city does sleep, at least in the early hours of Monday morning when the buses have stopped running and I am awake to cross from West to East Harlem, past the gorgeous, melancholy lights (both in Central Park and outside, white until I got to 5th Avenue, at which point they all turned yellow), the shadows, the streets that seem so clean after dark. And I was entranced to watch it asleep.