Sparkly dresses and gold earrings next to LED headwear that looks like it escaped a rave. High heels, mini skirts and strapless tops… walking past people in down jackets and long pants like it’s two different hemispheres sharing the same footpath. School kids high on freedom. Prams sprinkled in the crowds. Kids rugged up like tiny marshmallows. Kids on dad’s shoulders falling asleep. Mum juggling bags, snacks, jumpers, sanity. Music changing every ten metres as you pass a new restaurant - jazz, pop, techno, something Balkan, something loud, something louder. Languages overlapping. Smells colliding. Rubbish multiplying in real time. People pushing. People walking against the crowd (bold choice). Announcements no one listens to. Impatience. Phones recording everything instead of just… looking. Bare feet. Blisters. Vapes. Vomit (always earlier than expected). Young women dancing provocatively to the cameras. Young men eyeing them off like that tired old cat-and-mouse ritual, except now it’s all filmed, uploaded, and timestamped forever. Young women wearing their partner’s jackets because it’s colder than anticipated (quietly sweet). Families. Friends. Drunk. Happy. Sad. Expensive. Indulgent. Security abundant. Police calm, helpful, endlessly patient. Multicultural in the best, loudest, messiest way. No countdown anyone can hear. Ten minutes of fireworks everyone films and then immediately watches back on their phones. And woven through it all, rough sleepers, often unnoticed, often ambivalent, as the city celebrates another turn around the sun. Chaotic. Human. Overstimulating. Oddly moving. Happy New Year. Same city, new number.