A
t night, the commercial city undergoes a stark transformation. The storefronts which before welcomed customers in their warm embrace take on a foreign, iridescent glow. Security gates guard neon arrays of deals and discounts while undercaffeinated night-shifters guard against sleep. The city, which at first sight seems so lonely in its darkness, slowly opens itself to the nighttime wanderer. The subtlest of details—the stink of an overworked air conditioner, the eerie reflections of streetlights—are the headlines of the night, exploding upon the senses. The night enunciates.
And each storefront takes on a novel persona, changed by the night. Under the florescence of swinging lights, flower stands glow upon the sidewalk. Bakeries and cafes are shells of their daytime selves, homeless ghosts adrift on the dark street. Exhausted employees of nail salons and barbershops sit hunched in the half-light, out of customers and out of place, watching the clock and waiting to close. Neon tubes shine inexorably on, coating the world in stark iridescence. And while the night feels lonely and foreign, it also hold a certain life, an otherworldly character that cannot be ignored nor denied. The radical harshness that defines the New York night is worth enduring, for within it lies a subtle beauty, a fresh feeling of liveliness unheard of under the sun.
Barbershop employees sit hunched in the half-light, out of customers and out of place, watching the clock and waiting to close. Next door, a balding man with a shirt too long for his jacket waits at the counter while another browses the aisle.
At night, flower and fruit stands glow, iridescent under low swinging lights.
Behind thick steel bars, storefronts sell to children.
Father and son head inside a 72nd street bodega for late-night shopping.
Botánica San Elias sells various teas and herbs from behind wood-carved totems, idols, and statues.