In an attempt to prolong a night that has already fallen, we rummage through M street, making our way to the Potomac River. Streets are now filled with drunken boys holding cigarettes that distract by passers. These beautiful boys are almost falling, barely keeping up with the rest of the sober crowd, the one that gave up a bottle of wine for other pleasures. I find a Marlboro pack on a bench we sit on. A single, untouched cigarette rests inside the green and white box; I decide to keep it. Once again, we find ourselves among people who seem to be in a world far from us, or maybe we are just too sober to realize that we all live in the same world. We are too sober to realize that our world is a shadow of theirs, wrapped in reality, in logic, in facts. We decide to drift away, walk away from them, let them enjoy their drinks, cigars, campaigns, their expensive boats. Let us forget about prince charming riding on a white horse. Let us forget perfect endings. Let us keep dreaming while we’re asleep; maybe then we can possess the night, the boys, the moon, the river.