Theres something surreal about slinking through the cobbled streets of a major metropolis at dawn. It’s like you’re standing at the edge of the world, frozen in time. Abandoned newspaper stands shudder in the icy breeze like a couple of matchbooks taped together. Delicate traces of last nights mistakes still cling to curbsides and alleyways. Watching the golden haze of morning creep it’s way through the gardens is fresh, tangerine perfection.