You go out into the night with a glass of liquor in your hand, ice cubes knocking on each other like crystal dice in a dice cup. You listen to the orchestrated humming of air-conditioners on the compound. Beyond those walls, people are in bed and sleeping. Only the moon and the stars and the clouds and the black trees can see you. You close your eyes and ride on the sound of the night. And fly. To the person you love most.