Late in the night when shadows overtake the outlines of the city’s streets and when the air is stagnant and subtle, they pour out in dark silhouettes, like a steady heartbeat. They thicken the atmosphere with their enigmatic presence, releasing life, movement, and incandescence at such an unusual hour.

Lurking in chilly alleys and abandoned old parks that once held noisy, vivacious children, they gather in boisterous groups laughing loudly, drinking excessively, and producing sweet melodies on their guitars.

Their convivial voices can be heard streaming in and out of dimly-lit pubs, bars, and even a few sinister chambers underneath the ground.

The serene Father Night succumbs to their invasion and the city booms with unforseen wakefulness, releasing irrevocable energy for those who are called Nightcrawlers, insomniacs, or People of the Night.

The morning draws near but it causes no hurry or watchfulness. There is still time to enjoy the deep discussions, debates, and schemes in ardent anticipation for the next night.

With dark and colorful leather jackets, silver tokens, and belts, their gregarious dance-like movements light up the neighboring passageways, their varying ideals and styles expressing confidence and sophistication.

The decadence of these rejects from high-class society stays well into the day, but their inspirational zest for life remains. They are the planners of a revolution yet to come.