Riding the night buses with the people who keep the city awake
Cleaners, bakers, nurses, DJs: a night on the N41, from midnight to the first light.
The N41 leaves the central station at twelve minutes past midnight. The first passengers are going home; by two o’clock, most of them are going to work.
A baker who starts at three. A nurse finishing a double shift. Two DJs with record bags, arguing about a track. A cleaner who has taken the same seat every night for nine years and greets the driver by name.
At five forty the sky turns grey and the bus fills with people who slept.
Night buses are the city’s quietest public space: everyone tired, everyone polite, the windows full of reflections. At five forty the sky turns grey and the bus fills with people who slept.
