I never used to be a morning person, don't think I am one now to be honest, but having worked until midnight until recently I got used to the New York that comes out when everyone else is safely passed out in bed. Going to a bar at 6pm just seemed wrong, somehow. The people were too clean, too pressed and tailored. There isn't as much of a spark there, as if putting on a suit automatically forces a sublimation of personality. Become one with the tie, and the tie shall guide you.
Midnight is for oddly intersecting collections of solitary people. Happy hour seems so pale in comparison.
But now I'm a morning person and it's sort of by choice. I go out at 7am, get breakfast and tea and cigarettes for the day, settling into a hazy early morning routine. It crept up on me, made me feel a little less disenfranchised, a little more acceptable. What's killing me is, I have no idea whether I like it or not. Mornings have an appeal I've missed, buried beneath the scarves and wooly winter half-light.
Still feels wrong, somehow. Makes me itchy.