I prowled downtown Fayetteville and Dickson Street in the dark. There are always remnant people from the night before. Singing in the parking garages for acoustics, sitting bleary-eyed on curbs and benches, slurring their words and futilely trying to get their dead phones to work. Some were trying to break down equipment and food, tired and eager to get home. Even after 3:00, there were people in the back of some bars still not wanting to surrender the night. A woman waved at me from way up on her penthouse balcony, leaving me to wonder whether the drink she held was a continuation from Saturday celebrations or coffee to acknowledge that Sunday was upon us.

Across from the Walton Arts center, I made the mistake of looking at the hands of a homeless person bundled and covered on the bench. That image stuck in my head and made me feel helpless. The wheelchair sitting at the end of the bench didn’t help. I experienced the privileged dissonance of me walking around on a sleepless night in the same universe this person slept wherever they could.

On the corner of Block and West, I laughed at the unlikely coincidence of Calle’s loudspeaker choice of music, blaring alleged entertainment to no one on the abandoned streets: “X Gon’ Give It To You” by DMX. It was so random and bizarre that I would walk by at that precise moment.

I didn’t want to walk to end. The quiet darkness contained too many colors, sounds, and sights. Even the beautiful houses each had their own quiet beauty.