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When I was a kid there were quite a few years where my mom worked a day job and then cleaned a bank at night.  On a few occasions I tagged along with her and  loved the covert feeling of being in a place that was meant for daytime, after dark.  It was a place that in the daytime was all bustle and business, but after dark I was able to fill the stifling silence with a blaring radio, scribble on as many deposit slips as I wanted and explore the surface of safe door with my fingertips.  My fascination for empty public places even brought on dreams of being “accidentally” locked inside my school or the shopping mall overnight.  This is where my mind wandered when it came to night time.  For some reason I thought people just disappeared.

In these days of mothering little ones, my evenings out are few and far between.  When I do venture out into the world after dark I’m always surprised at how many people are about.  I don’t mean on a Friday or Saturday night.  That’s a given.  But on a Monday?  In my deluded mind I thought that since I was lounging in pajamas watching bad TV, so was everyone else.

When it comes to work, there are all sorts of jobs that need to be done after hours once the people have “disappeared”. On this particular night, my camera and I headed out into the neighbourhood at 9pm.   Certainly not a time when the streets are completely quiet (3am and I are not friends), but late enough that the city is winding down.  I loved catching a glimpse of who’s still on the clock at that hour.  I wonder how many of them thrive on the late nights and how many of them wish they were home tucking in their kids.  In my case, I couldn’t wait to get back to my hubby and my couch, feeling truly grateful that being out at that hour was totally optional for me.