Patrick and the Princess rode the evening train into the city. The sun was still peeking above the horizon, spewing golden streams of light thru the clouds and the city glistened from the afternoon rain. She had never been to the city before and Patrick was eager to show her the renowned City of lights. Fortunate for him the setting sun was the perfect start to the night, with its glow spread upon the worn and broken streets. Shades of gold and yellow in sharp contrast to the dark shadows that held the thoughts of the night captive in their grasp. This was the magical time of the day. Where day and night meet, shake hands, and trade our hopes for our dreams.
As they got closer to the depths of the city, He began to point out landmarks and visages of eras gone by. These things seemed of no interest to her, for she was here not to see the sights, but to find the dark underbelly of the city. She was there to find not the bright light of the city, but to find out where these lights came from. Who was the man who flipped the switch? Who was the woman behind the lights?
Arriving in the main train station they waited for the train to stop, and the doors to open. The rhythmic clack-clack of the train had dulled the senses, making her mind reel when she stepped on the platform. The sounds and smells came rushing to meet her, and almost overwhelmed her perception. This was her first time to experience this explosion of sensory overload. The smell of perfume and food mingled with diesel fumes and grease.