In the midnight hour, what weird thoughts arise?

It is late. The world sleeps and all fhe trappings of it seem to fade to that dull grey, illuminated by streetlights and candles and lit cigarettes in the dim dusky darkness.

So, past the veil which sleep forgets, in the witching hours, what keeps you awake?

Why is it when the moon shines its naked eye upon us that we are not the creatures we are in the light?

For eons, since we climbed from the primordial soup and became that thin sliver above the common beasts, we have sat around the gift of Prometheus and fallen prey, one by one, to the lord of heavy eyes.

But there are always some that escape that fate, and dwell in these godless hours.

Here where plots are hatched and wicked tales told among the dwindling drips of wax.

What keeps you up at night?