The city stretched beneath an ink-black sky, its neon lights flickering like fallen stars. In an apartment with walls covered in faded posters and botched graffiti, four shadows prepared themselves. Leather jackets, worn from previous nights, slid over their shoulders like a second skin. Zippers hissed, sealing their silent pact. Tonight, the street awaited them, eager and electric.
The air was thick with that unique scent—a mix of hot asphalt, food truck smoke, and cheap perfume. They descended the spiral staircase, their footsteps echoing like a war drum. Night hadn’t fully fallen yet, but it already belonged to them.
The lights of the signs flashed, painting their faces in blue, pink, and green hues. They moved as a pack, carefree and kingly. Laughter burst forth, jokes flew, but beneath the surface, something deeper united them: the certainty that tonight, nothing could stop them. Not the sideways glances of hurried passersby, not the distant sirens, not even the fatigue of tomorrow.
The first bar swallowed them in a haze of music and laughter. Glasses clinked, bodies brushed against each other, and for a moment, the world was nothing but a whirlwind of sensations. They danced, they drank, they lived as if there were no tomorrow. The city watched them, an accomplice, as if it knew they were its wildest, freest children.
Later, as dawn began to nibble at the edges of the night, they found themselves on a deserted quay, feet dangling over the black water. No one spoke. No one needed to. They all knew these nights were fleeting, precious—like shooting stars caught at the tips of their fingers before vanishing.
One by one, they lit a cigarette, sharing the flame as they shared everything else. The smoke rose into the cold air, sketching dreams that would evaporate with the day. But it didn’t matter. Tonight, they had been invincible. Tonight, the city had been their kingdom.
And tomorrow? Tomorrow, they would put their jackets back on. Tomorrow, the night would call them again.