When There Is No Sun

"How much sleep did you get last night?" I look up from my slumped-over position to see my friend looking down at me with her plate of food. "Uh..." I say, rubbing my eyes. I think back to everything I did last night. My fingers darted across my keyboard and poured out word after word on my screen. I made multiple drinks and a bowl of rice after a little while. I then returned to my room to read my book and organize my room. It felt like I got a blink of sleep before the sun reflectors shone on my eyes to stir me awake and out of bed. "Not a lot." 

"You really should think about getting more sleep," my friend said as she sat down with her food, poking at her chicken wing. 

"Why," I questioned. It's not like I'm the only one who does this. "I get so much done when the sun goes away for a while. No one is around to tell me I am taking too long or should be doing something else."

"I guess that's true," she said, handing me the packaged brownie she always gives me. "I mean, I guess if I can eat whenever I am hungry, you should be able to do your activities when you feel like it."

"See, I knew you would understand," I say with a wink. My friend lightly punches my arm as we both chuckle. 

"That kind of stuff is nice," I remember my late-night walks; the shops and cafes always have staff, no matter when the sun is shining and seeing all the other night owls minding their own business or softly talking. It's nice, life like this. "It'd be weird," I start. "if something was governing when we did stuff. Like," I chuckle, "What if there were little numbers on things that told us when we should sleep?"