Being out at night, on the bus, pampering the late hour by listening and paying attention, to those who’d like to go too far out, those to areas they know and nobody else does, Any night bus?, the driver’s at a loss, Never done that line, What street again? – Indulging in those who, because it’s late and increasingly dark, believe red and green to be daytime colors. They stroll in the sparseness of traffic out of side streets and into main avenues – now we’re talking dear city! It’s so warm only a T-shirt is good at 1 am! Streetlights are dim and reflected in the tepid cobblestones. – Although there’s always a car, there’s always a bus, engine roaring up and down, (quiet is never really quiet) those out at night still tend to be the most dilapidated of their kind, and you can hear them, oh! you can hear them.