3 am time for the lonely, the lovers and the lost.

A teenage girl sits on her bed. Hot tears are pouring down her face. Angry red marks are littered on her arms. The big ugly red numbers on her clock read 3:00 a.m.. All she can do is stare at the vast starry sky and hope that it will answer her prayers. All the poor thing wanted was someone-- anyone-- to sit by her bedside, stroke her hair and tell her everything was going to be alright. The girl could never say how many nights she spent sitting alone in her room, wishing that for one second she didn't have to be alone. She wished her father would come back from war. She wished her mother would stop being dead. She wished her grandmother would stop forgetting to take care of her. The teenage girl will always feel this way until the day she pulls out her father's gun, presses it aginst her skull with tears streaming down her face and pulls the trigger. That day won't happen for another year though, so all she can do is keep putting that razor to her skin and watching the blood run free.

Her moans die out and she starts breathing heavily as he rolls off of her, both of them completely euphoric. She smiles up at him, laying her head on his chest as they both take deep breaths. He smiles down at her, kisses her forehead and whispers his love for her. She repeats it back. The moon shines over their naked bodies. They look up at the clock and see that the hands lay over three. They laugh at each other after reading the time. They have been together for a year now. It started out with sex but as time went on that all changed. They weren't just fucking anymore; they were making love. He has a ring in his coat pocket that he had been wanting to give her. She has a child in her belly that she wants to tell him about, but for right now they are just happy to be wrapped up in each other. Neither of them had ever believed they could be this happy. His mother's a drug addict and her father's a sexual abuser. Both of them are alcoholics. But through it, they found each other. They come alive at 3 a.m. when he is buried inside her and she runs her nails across his back.

A young man walks a dirty and dark street in New York City. He flicks his dark hood over his head, hoping no one sees him. He walks until he spots a bench at the edge of the park. He sits down on it, stretches his legs out, crosses them at the ankles and glances down at the watch on his wrist that he nabbed off a guy coming out of the convenience store. The cheap looking thing reads 3 a.m.. He heaves a deep sigh and leans his head back. He stares at the moon. He thinks about the day his daddy left when he was eight. Then, he remembers the time when his older brother was shot by a cop as he was walking out of the house. Finally, he thinks of last year when he came home to find his momma with her head in the stove and the apartment reeking of gas. It was after her funeral that he decided to leave it all. He lost everything thing in his life now. All he can do is wander the city looking for something that can bring him back to life. He closes his eyes in hopes that he can feel something or at least not feel so lost and alone at 3 a.m..