Springfield at Night 

Sometimes, late at night, I end up scrolling through niche corners of the internet where vibes are formed by exterior night shots from The Simpsons. These establishing frames of Springfield capture a nostalgic aesthetic that is both tranquil and moody. The sky is purple; the roads are desolate; this city of chaos and humour is asleep. When I see these stills, I wish I could travel through my phone to this fictional realm. I can think of no better world for a late-night stroll than Springfield.

My ideal night begins at Moe's. It's close to midnight when I stumble from the tavern. The four, five, six Duffs I drank have my head swimming and my stomach bloated. After spending too many hours in that damp and dingy bar, the warm and still air is refreshing. This summer night feels ideal, ethereal, with the moon waxing and the purple sky glittering with stars. I feel the inebriated urge to walk all the way home.

With one unsteady foot in front of the other, I slowly begin my journey. Passing King Toot's Music Store, I wonder if I wandered in the right direction.

I turn a corner and am met by the Springfield Tire Fire. Since childhood, I've desired to gaze upon this burning heap of rubber. Its pungent, unpleasant aroma fills my being, reminding me of car wrecks and gas stations. This mountain of orange and red flames raises my body temperature to uncomfortable levels. The heat becomes unbearable, so I walk on.

I stumble through the suburbs where countless iconic families rest. In these wee hours, their green lawns look indigo, and my moonshadow lingers long behind me. Passing the homes of these hilarious characters, I reflect on the countless times they've all made me laugh out loud. There's the Van Houten house, where Luann kicked Kirk out so that she could live with her new American Gladiator boyfriend. And the Wiggum abode, where Bart and Ralph formed their friendship over stealing Clancy's key to the city.

I reach Evergreen Terrace, home to Springfield's most iconic residents. First, the Flanders house, where Ned, Rod and Todd keep their religious zeal strong, despite their neighbour's unholy ways. Then, the house that I've spent more time in than my own family home—742 Evergreen Terrace, with its pinkish walls and elephant-head door knocker. What can I say about this house that could justify how appreciative I am for the humour that's unfolded within its walls? Who would I be without this house? If I never saw Frank Grimes come over; never saw Homer open an industrially shaken Duff on April Fool's Day; never heard Moe call a garage a car hole, would I be the same person, or a dull drip with no sense of humour? I don't know. Frankly, I don't want to know.

Continuing my nocturnal nonchalance, I arrive at Jebediah Springfield Park, where the statue of the city's founder stands, his finger in the air and a dead bear under his foot. I look up at this immortalized man, proven a fraud by an eight-year-old girl, who kept it a secret because she understood the importance of a myth. Along the statue's throat, I can see the faint line of a crack.

Suddenly, I'm gripped with the desire to see all of Springfield tonight. Little landmarks are not enough. I must get higher, much higher, to take in all of the city's glory. This'll require a car; a driver too, as the Duffs have left me too impaired to drive. I look all around, like I'll find an answer on these desolate roads, but I am hopelessly alone. Luckily, in Springfield, friends are only a phone call away.

I make a call and begin to wait. In my idle state, I wander around Springfield Town Hall, searching for a small landmark of importance. I circle the building until I find what I'm looking for: The sundial, where Mr. Burns was discovered shot and nearly dead. This was the climax to one of the greatest season finales of all time, one that was ambitious enough to end a season on a "to be continued." I hear the engine of a car in the distance and the faint beep of a horn. I walk in its direction.

I hop in. Lenny drives. Carl is in the back. I connect to the aux. We peel off. Window down, the night air on my face feels liberating. Lenny takes us past Springfield Elementary, the First Church of Springfield and the Retirement Castle. We don't talk much, letting the hum of the engine and the bass of the music fill the void.

Lenny pulls into the Kwik-E-Mart. I try to mask my excitement about entering this iconic convenience store, but I'm afraid that my grinning face deceives me. I stumble through the automatic sliding doors and am immediately greeted by Apu, who is way too enthusiastic considering the hour of the night. He's probably on one of his 96-hour shifts. I grab a six-pack of donuts and order a Squishee at the counter. As I exit, I hear from behind me: “Thank you, come again!”

Back in the car, we cruise out of town. Lenny and Carl drop me off at the top of Mt. Springfield, right by the Springfield sign. The night is still warm, despite the hour drawing close to dawn. In one view, I can see the entire city. It makes me feel like Rex Banner that night he vowed to catch the Beer Baron. I can see the power plant and KBBL radio. Far in the distance, I can even make out Springfield Harbor and the old boardwalk.

A city is remembered for the stories created within it. As such, there's no more exciting city on all of television than Springfield. These inconsequential buildings gridded out in fearful symmetry provide the backdrop to the adventures of The Simpsons and their neighbours. Through creativity, Springfield has become its own character, one worth commemorating. It's a home where anything is possible.

Shooting stars pierce the night sky. My melancholy reaches its peak.

I begin the long walk down the mountain and back into Springfield. The first light is starting to rise over Springfield Mall. I know that I need to find my bravery for the new day. Melancholy has no place in the sun. I make my way home, or rather to my rental home—a single room in the Bachelor Arms (Lionel Hutz set it up). Not great, but my bed is designed like a racing car, so I can't complain, I guess.

I take in the last few moments of Springfield at night. I want to stay forever in this cartoon city, but I know that it isn't my real home. One day, I'll have to return to the three-dimensional realm.

I find my racecar bed and lie down. My buzz is gone and the sun is peaking through the blinds.

I must've slept for no more than two hours when my phone rings. It's Homer. He scored Isotope tickets and wants me to join him. The game starts soon. I rise and carry on, thankful to have at least one more day in Springfield.