On the process of becoming nocturnal

The other night I left work at 4:30 in the morning. Walking out the door, someone asked me, “What are you doing? You wanna get some food or play cards or something?” As strange as this may sound, I actually considered the question before settling on, “No thanks, I think I’m gonna try to get some sleep.” This is a Wednesday night in Buenos Aires. I headed down the street to catch the bus and saw two kids skipping along like it was Saturday afternoon. They were 10 or 11 years old, well dressed, and by themselves, although obviously they belonged to someone. I hopped onto the bus and found a seat open in the very back… all the rest were occupied. My eyes scanned the seated rows, searching for the collection of usual suspects. Where were all the junkies, prostitutes and frightened college students? Instead I found teenage couples kissing, middle-aged people in street clothes and mothers with small children still awake. Barreling down the avenues of BA, still dotted with traffic, we passed outdoor cafés alive with friendly chatter. City workers collected trash, delivered papers and swept out gutters. Street vendors set up shop and local business owners hosed down storefront sidewalks. The light began pushing against the nighttime backdrop, not yet visible but somehow making its presence known. It’s during those brackish hours of morning when two worlds collide and a special part of the city’s personality becomes noticeable. As I exited the bus and walked towards my apartment, I crossed paths with a nun who brushed swiftly past in a strong, determined stride. She was dressed head to toe in white and I in my black shirt and jeans. While I had been drinking beer after work she had no doubt been offering her morning prayers. The juxtaposition clicked in my head and I stopped and turned to notice her. I couldn’t wrap my mind around a life so very different from my own; yet there we were, walking across the same sidewalk, each moving in our own direction but together at the same time. With thoughts of the Twilight Zone ringing between my ears, I went home and went to bed. I think it was 5:15. They say New York is the city that never sleeps. I disagree with that. New York is ‘a’ city that never sleeps.