On the corner of Hemlock and Fourth, in a neighborhood that typically sleeps before the ten o’clock news finishes, stands a lamp post that defies the logic of the city grid. It is an older model, its iron neck curved like a question mark, the paint layered thick from decades of municipal maintenance.
To the casual observer during the day, it is unremarkable, blending into the background of oak trees and brick row houses. But the locals know—or at least, the ones who have trouble sleeping know—that this specific light does not follow the schedule of the sun or the timer set by the electric company.
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