Building site at night.

I don't know if you've ever been on a building site in the dark. If you have, the chances are you might agree it's pretty magical, maybe because you write poetry yourself, being on this website, and therefore have a good imagination.
Not everyone's like that. I used to spend quite a lot of time on site during the dark hours, and no, I wasn't pilfering, my partner and his friend used to work there at the weekends, doing the night-time security shift. 1

We'd sit in the little shed with the lamp on, surrounded by black, as we talked through the night, maybe having the odd drink, smoking, sometimes having fish and chips. The toilet was literally a toilet situated in the middle of the carpark they were building on, made private by four large sheets of wood nailed together, one of them on hinges as it acted as a door.
5pm to 7am, that was our shift. Some people wouldn't spend their Saturday night on a building site if it was the last thing they did, but I loved it. I used to love coming out of the shed and exploring the place, going up the new stairwells and wandering around in awe at the stunning new flats, strolling out onto the flat roofs and gazing at the huge stretch of twinkling lights and buildings that surrounded me. Once, me and James went out onto the roof in high-vis jackets and lay there together, staring up at the stars. They looked like crystal berries, hanging in an inky black sky. We lay there until the damp on the roof from the previous rain soaked into our jeans (could've been worse!)2

But really, what I liked was walking around downstairs. Not just the magnitude of wires and copper tubes fixing themselves up to tiny lights on the inner wall, but on the actual labour site itself. When you go to a building site in the day it's like, fine, okay, it's a building site. But when you go at night... it's like the whole place has transformed. A lot of things look different in the dark, but this is quite unique in my opinion.3

Cement mixers are suddenly great, gaping mouths. The forklift truck becomes a monster. A crane towers over you, the arm curled over like a ballet dancer's stance.4

Obviously I don't believe in this personification. It was just an idle fantasy I had as I stepped outside for a cigarette, or to visit the bathroom.
Some people don't see it as anything different, though, maybe their imagination isn't so vivid, or they're just the sort who call a spade a spade, which is fine.5

Look at me and my friend:6

Me: Doesn't it look so different at night, this place?
Oli: That's 'cause it's dark love.
Me: I know mate, but doesn't it just transform the place? All these tools and the machinery... it looks like it could be anything.
Oli: You're right!! I mean, look... there's a dumper truck... in the dark.
Me: Alright mate.
Oli: There's a winch... in the dark.
Me: Shut up.
Oli: There's Jess...
Me: (trying not to laugh) I said shut up!
Oli: ...in the dark.7

It didn't matter to me though. It was a different world to me. The scaffolding, towering high above me, linked together with bolts, now like a giant iron cobweb. The ladders. The private hysterics I had when a few drunks walked past the site and had heart attacks when they saw me inside at 1am. "There's a girl in there!!"
"You're seeing things, mate."
"No, an actual lady! She's in there! She went into that little box room! Lets wait and see if she comes out, or we'll never know!"
"Think someone's spiked your drink, son."8

Everything about it. The sun rising. The drive home. The return on the next Saturday night. The return from the bathroom.9

Knowing that the shed will be glowing with the orange lamp amongst the darkness, waiting for me to come back.10

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