Yeah. Still open. Laundromat turning at quarter to two, blue shirt, red socks, one missing shoe. Guy at the counter got one eye shut, rings me up like he’s seen enough. Woman in slippers buying cereal, cab rolls slow with nobody in. I got nowhere that I gotta be, so I let the sidewalk carry me. Everybody out here after one looks like they forgot to call it done. No questions. No names. Some go home. Some stay. Some of us run a little late. Open late. Lights still on. Half the city left, we kept rolling along. Open late. No big plan. Nobody asks why you’re awake. Different reasons. Same old place. Still open. Open late. Diner cook leaning on the back door, apron says he’s been here since four. Someone upstairs drops something loud, window slides, one head looks out. Phone says two seventeen. Battery low, seventeen percent. Could head back. Probably should. Probably won’t. Not yet. Three A.M. Funny little country. No dress code. No small talk. Just fluorescent aisles and people buying things they definitely could’ve bought tomorrow. Open late. Lights still on. Morning keeps calling. Nobody responds. Open late. One more block. Nobody asks where you’ve been. If tonight ain’t finished with you yet, stay open. Open late. Morning’s waiting somewhere east. Nobody here invited it. Still open. That’ll do.
