In the night

There is a time of night not many get to experience. It is my favorite. It is reserved for people with twisted clocks like mine. It doesn't last very long. There are just a few fleeting minutes when you catch the night at just this time. It happens after the bars and restaurants have closed and the patrons and the crazies of these places have made it into cabs and other places and off the streets. It is not yet the middle of the night. That comes later when it is more eerily quiet and cold and lonely. This time of the night does not have a name yet but could really use one. The "wee hours" is too silly, "middle of the night" sounds lonely and sad, the "midnight hours" might work but it really doesn't seem capture it. It needs a name. Maybe I will have a contest and offer a free twix bar to whoever wins.
Not many get to experience this time of the night. It is quiet. Cabs shoot by. The hustle is off the streets and the buildings have time to take a deep breath and acknowledge each other. They acknowledge me and I get a little building spiritual head nod as I walk past. You can feel the city letting out a sigh...kicking back on it's couch and putting it's feet up on it's coffee table. If it could the city would take the top off a beer and maybe light a cigarette. For some reason it is usually drizzling at this time of night and if it is not it should be. That just adds to the flavor.

Those of us out at this time of night share similar stories. We've moved the last straggling customers out of the building. Garbage has been taken to the street, floors mopped, areas restocked and ready for tomorrow. Tips counted and shared, stories and complaints from the night unburdened.
I step out into the night of Portland. Walk past the ghost bike. Lights reflect and twinkle from the water on the street. I stand up tall and take a big breath of night air. My head held high and I feel the drizzle on my face. I am wide awake and not in a hurry. I have a chance to have my friend Portland to myself. I walk past a covered door way and see two bartenders from where I work sharing hits off a pipe. We communicate with a head nod and a smile. A man walks past me still wearing his chef pants. His white coat hanging below his winter coat. A head nod. I round the corner and two individuals are loading garbage bags into a dumpster. In the window of a local spot a few of the employees are gathered around the closed bar sharing an end of the evening drink. I get into my car and drive home.