The silent world of night beholds the bearers of the slumbering animals. As most of them meditate collectively in alterative realities guided by deep thought, a few of us work the midnight oil till the dawn hour where by the rising Taurus believes all was a dream. Restless and weary, the hours after 4 am calls the end of our nightly duty. No one sees nor can relate to works of hands on the floors of reality as many forgets day’s past events in love, anger or neutrality. These streets empty, dark, and sometimes inhabitant by floating spirits conversing with cold sub zero winds, are gently painted in white light equally erased by deep darkness. Store front buildings undercover by this darkness are reveled by second floor apartment lights, assuring their vacantness to the world. Silhouettes in the windows, we can only hope there living. Silhouettes in the windows, living is our only hope