|(Image: Glyn Lowe Photoworks)|
Each morning, as I am getting up much before the stroke of 6, I sit at the table or on the couch or perch on the bed and at exactly 6am, the lights come on. Floor by floor, flashing on. Like 16 or so floors of eyes, all waking up at the same time. The light is so bright, in it's collective glory, that it casts a fake sunlight into my apartment. That's when I know it's truly time to start my day.
Coincidentally, every night the lights must turn off, the eyes must close and the building must get it's rest. At 10 pm every night, the light will shut off. Floor by floor, row by row. The eyes close, signaling that it's time for bed. It's as though the world has turned off the sun, as the darkness ascends on my apartment without my neighboring false sun.
Those are my favorite times in the day. There's something so...secure about knowing there will always come a 6 o'clock and a 10 o'clock. That there will always be a place in the world that there is a routine. That there is a place in the world that will be the same forever.