A Quick Poem for the Nightlife: No Rest for the Wicked

The sun goes down, and the moon conquers the clouds. The night sky blankets over the environment. At that moment, the floodgates of old memories are open and I find myself drowning in thought.

There were nights of old when we bombarded the streets in search of misadventures. We mingled among the general populous of lunatics. We were obnoxious brutes with alcohol pumping through our veins as we darted through the darkness.

Small embers from our lighters lit our path to next misadventure, the trails of smoke lingered behind us, and we realize on thing: we were born for this!

I have indulged in many fantasies under the dim streetlights, but things have changed. The nightlife is a different universe; it brings out the hedonism in people.