“In the city that never sleeps” Sinatra sang – New York, New York. One of a Kind, no place like it anywhere in the world. Now your New York’s are 10-a-penny. New York, London, Bangkok, Amsterdam, Sydney cities that never sleep… The world officially has insomnia. These cities, all busier in night than they seem day yet they never descend into darkness. The bright lights of their city squares, sky scrapper monuments and Broadways glow bright like star in the night deep blanket of blue. The skin of the city lit up with fake fluorescent glows, glows of fanciful hope and beams of excitement. Its heartbeat heard throughout the night as the base beating on the pavement coming deep from within the basement clubs and late bars that crowd the cities arteries. The thoughts of these great cities projected by its occupants laughing and joking, singing and dancing, crying and hurting among the hustle and bustle of the night. The rhythm of the city, the rhythm of life, the rhythm of insomnia. The rhythm of pain.

People wander these sleep deprived cities, the cities that never get a wink but are still  expected to wake with the dawn without a trace of the previous evenings make-up left on their face. The wanderers, the insomniacs – the bold and the beautiful, the lost and the lonely. Those who came to the big smoke in search of themselves, in search of a new life or simply just to forget an old one. Each city has the same sanctuaries with the same medicines. Bars and clubs with their music and alcohol, cafes and restaurants where you can eat and read at any hour. Arcades and Cinema for those who need to be occupied to be lost – casinos for those who want to prove they are one of lifes winners – one of the lucky, they end up with less than before. You can eat, drink, smoke, dance, sing, watch, play and laugh 24 hours a day 7 days a week in these magnificent sleepless cities. No need for lovers, no need for friends. The city is your lover, its occupants your friends. No questions – no promises. Just the moment, just the here and now. Be who you want with the city, and let the city be whoever you want back.

If these cities were a colour they would be a dark but forgiving midnight blue, the kind you could lose yourself in, the kind you dream in. These cities, if they were a drink would be Absinthe. It makes the heart grow fonder, it makes the mind forget. These cities, these that never sleep if there were to be music they would be the tune of the jazz blues. The deep soulful notes you hear only behind blacked out windows, where drinks are served short and on rocks, where a saxophone plays a tune that depicts every patrons mood. These places, the big cities we all urn to see, the places they tell you to see before you die, if these places were people would they be happy? Would they be the person or persons we all envy and aspire to? Or would they be the ones we avoid, the reckless and unpredictable you stop inviting to parties for fear they will embarrass themselves, or worse, embarrass you. Would these cities be in rehab, with daily visits from shrinks? Prescribed so many pills they don’t know know if they are Sydney or Saigon?