Okay, let’s be real: I loved this time of night, but not for the poetic crap everyone else goes on about. Sure, the bustling little Zam-city ground to a halt like a toy car out of batteries, and the stars popped out—though honestly, they acted like they owned the place, flashing around like they just got promoted to a sky-lighting crew.

The nightlife here? Chef’s kiss of predictability.

Every single night, the same pack of drunks and teens stumbled down the same block, all heading to Jollibee like it was a pilgrimage to the neon bee god.

Then there was the '7 PM Walk Club' ladies—you know the ones—who took their dogs out every other night (I’ve timed it) and talked about their husbands with the same dramatic sigh: 'Oh, Roberto forgot to take out the trash… again.'

I swear, if I had a peso for every time I heard that, I could buy out the entire Jollibee diner menu.

Even the stray cats across the street kept me company—they’d sit there licking their paws, staring at me like I was the weird one for standing around watching people walk dogs.

Eventually, I dragged my feet to the coffee shop next door: Evanescence café.

Really? Evanescence?

For a place that sells milkshakes thicker than my grandma’s gravy? My strides were so sluggish, I think a snail passed me at one point, but I made it to the counter and looked right at you—trying to play it cool even though my feet felt like lead weights.

“Can I order one avocado milkshake and… a chocolate donut please?” I almost stuttered. Almost.