Nighthawks

It is not that I was born to follow, but when you are at the mercy of another's interenet access, your posts will always be behind theirs.
Going through the drive through at Horny Tim's tonight (where the young lady repeated the coffee order and explained that there were no donuts or anything yet kept asking "is that everything?") It was mentioned that a certain close friend commented on 4 a.m. recently in his publishing.
I have a few things to say about 4 a.m. First, and least credibly, is the fact that Tim Horton's is actually a church of sorts. Maybe. You see the original Tim Horton was of course a hockey player, but he knew that there is only so long one can play professionally. He had a backup plan though. What most people do not realize is that he was a genius of biomechanics.
After hockey games he would work late into the wee hours on his crazed experiments in genetic atavism with a la Dr. Moreau. Some people at the time were tipped off, given the strange flashing lights and occaisional explosions coming from his lab, but he was a celebrated hockey playing Canadian and those people looked the other way when evidence of his other self presented itself.
What he created was a mutation of humanity and various species commonly found amongst humans (dogs, cats, etc...) Unbeknownst to the masses, H. Sapiens in Canada and parts of the United States now live in close proximity to what Mr. Horton dubbed Homo Parallelus (a concurrent viable alternate version of the species). They can be identified readily enough by those interested. To do this, simply go to a Tim Hortons store around three or four in the morning and watch the people for a while. In some cases upward of 75% of the customers will be the motherless offspring of Mr. Horton's bizarre bio-labs.
They gather at the donut shops to pay homage to their creator, view his image (which only shows up in specific stores) and to take their "sacrament." That's right, sacrament. After some of the finest investigative reporting work this nation has ever seen, I have ascertained that in fact the donuts and coffee were developed as vectors to supplicate H. Parallelus with the nutrients necessary for survival. They have certain requirements that must be met, though once met they are more efficient physically than the rest of us.
For anyone who may be concerned, there is no evidence in several decades of these supplications, that the products have in any way altered or harmed H. Sapiens. At least not in anyway that our society doesn't already do on a regular basis anyhow.

Now. In fact now is actually 5:46 a.m. but let us now discuss 4 a.m. for the sake of those who poo-poo one of the greatest times of the day. I am, as many of you will know, a nighthawk. I love mornings, don't get me wrong - but I usually only see them by staying awake that long.
I love love love 4 a.m. because it is the eye of the hurricane. All the day's hustle and running and bullshit swirls like a tornado. Come 4 a.m. though, there are only two contenders left from a vast list of entrants in the diurnal arena: Me and the night. I wear 4 a.m. like a mantle. The empty streets are mine to walk down the centre of. The soft false lights of the city shine for me. There is calm. One can focus most intently. Of course there are a few other people I find who understand this, and I don't really expect to convince anyone else of the validity of 4 a.m.; I just felt it should be defended.
It is a most unobtrusive time when one can accomplish that which the daylight has propped up in our way. Work ceases to be a function of time. The sense of accomplishment is always greater before the sun rises.
Alas, the sun is rising, and I have a wall to paint before someone returns to Sudbury...