There is no clear equivalent for the Spanish word madrugada in English. Usual translations are: "dawn", "daybreak","early morning" or "the wee hours"—the latter of which is perhaps the most accurate. But "dawn" is when the sun begins to rise, whereas madrugada refers to the time between midnight and 6 o'clock in the morning. It is as if we refused to name the witching hours, for fear that acknowledging them may make them real, when these hours are supposed to be the prisoners of dreams.

So it was deep into the madrugada that we walked, in this city whose streets were neatly divided into rectangles, and whose buildings followed suit for the lack of creativity; at best they turned at a slight angle to introduce an isosceles triangle at their entrances. It was quiet, the late night taxis have evaporated, and all signs of life were tucked away where people preferred to dance in close quarters to one another, drowned out by loud music, sweat and beer-tinged breath.

Our destinations were known entities of finite distances, but I was entirely conscious that your destiny was not mine, how we differed not in speed but in velocity, and that our paths were diverging at the rate of an unknown constant, faithful only to the beat of time.

It was deep into the madrugada that I sought peace from the night's demons, as its shadows stayed still, held back by fearless streetlamps. The taxi we finally hailed rolled to a silent stop at a red traffic light, even though there were no other cars in sight.