I saw a country bifurcated by more than just the presence and absence of light, but by lives cast aside and lost and uncared for; the walked away and the thrown-away on one side, and on the other, those who pretended not to see them, because not seeing is easier.

And I saw someone forced to walk both sides of the metaphor, to learn that the greatest cruelty is our casual blindness to the despair of others, that there but for the grace of whatever god you subscribe to goes any of us.

And finally, I realized that I had found what I was looking for, without ever being quite sure what it was.

I found a story that would make my own life make sense again.

This story.

I still take long walks, and I still stop and talk to the people who stand at the corner and wait for something to happen to them, who wait for money to fall into a hat or a cup, who wait for someone to recognize their pain.

Because the line between the midnight nation and the place where I sit right now, writing these words, is thin and ephemeral and can be crossed in an instant.

And because the road to the midnight nation can be erased only through compassion.

I found my story, this story, on a hazy afternoon in 1978.

Now it's yours. The keys to the midnight nation are in your hands.

What you do with them is up to you.