Red and blue flashing lights reflect in the sheen of the glistening dark asphalt. Police cruisers have closed both ends of the block, redirecting what little traffic there is this time of night, too late for most people who are safely asleep in their beds, and too early for the morning shift to start the day’s honest labor. The officer checks his watch, counting the minutes since the body on the stretcher last pulled in a breath on her own. The time ticks by, further and further from this world. Witching hour isn’t midnight, it’s 2:00am when the bars close.