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 night’s mistakes still cling to curbsides and alleyways. I watch the golden fingers of morning creep their way through an icy metropolis. It’s fresh, tangerine perfection.