I’ve been tracing the way cities glow at night, from the steam‑lit boulevards of Paris to the neon‑washed streets of New York, and I keep finding that the first jazz notes were born in the same dim corners. Have you ever wondered how those early cafés, with their hushed conversations and smoky lamps, shaped the sound that later sang out into the moonlit avenues? It’s like history itself takes on a rhythm, and I’d love to hear your take on that midnight symphony.