My stomach is sick with saccharine glazed donuts and coffee overdue by five hours, but we leave the brown napkins and the graveyard of brain cells behind as we venture into the late night. The barista greets us a friendly goodbye with a smile that hasn’t aged in five hours; I am mentally exhausted but his brightness makes me summon a weak expression in response.
Immediately we see the bridge, an intricate structure of white steel that only looks more mystifying in the dimness of night. A lazy crowd filters around us as we try to capture the beauty of the moment with inadequate smartphone cameras. But the lens cannot replicate the softness of midnight waters that simmer in purple haloes, the glaring streetlights that drown themselves in waves to be reincarnated as gentle golden suns.
The most unextraordinary asphalt paths somehow became magical as the skies darkened; at least in the moment it seemed so. I almost believed that they could lead me anywhere.