The White Orchid H.S l A.U

one of these days
and it's wont be long
you're gonna look for me
and i'll be long gone

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New York never truly sleeps, it just changes its face.

By day, the city belongs to businessmen with polished shoes and leather briefcases tucked beneath their arms. Secretaries hurrying down the crowded sidewalks, newspapers headlines being shouted from every corner, and yellow taxicabs fighting for inches of pavement beneath towering buildings.

But when the sun slips behind the skyline, Manhattan becomes something else entirely.

Neon signs flicker to life, painting the slick streets in crimson and sapphire. Jazz drifts from smokey basement clubs, laughter spilling from half-open doors. Scent of cigarette smoke mingles with expensive perfume and whiskey.

Men loosen their ties.

Women slip into satin gowns and long gloves, fur stoles draped elegantly over their shoulders.

Music drowns out confessions better left unheard.

New York welcomes everyone after dark.

Especially those with something to hide.