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December 24, 2019
3:45 AM, Christmas Eve. I am on the top deck of the N155 along with the rest of the Night Gang, all on our way to work. Itís different, for us. While the normal people sleep amongst the Christmas lights and trimmings, we are out in the wet darkness, about to do what we do. Wrapped against the not-really-all-that-cold, some still half-sleeping. Not me. I now live in the mental state of the permanent insomniac: the lights are on, somebodyís home, but the wires are frayed and sparking. Iím running, but on fumes, and scared.