Madrid by the nights of December, which you'd imagine are crowded and noisy, are actually desolated and chary. The Christmas light dies early. The singing people do similarly. The cold night is abandoned to derelicts as the only memories that it once was joyful in the most festive city in the world.

These are some low-quality, great-atmosphere pictures of how it looks like, Madrid, in the night...

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  The Plaza Mayor.
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  Soiled with rubbish, as every other corner of the city of Madrid in times of holidays.
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  The last people rushing through.
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  Maybe avoiding the police.
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  The Santa Cruz, always the most dignified.
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  Adorned by the rest of the Austrias.
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  The once most glorious of them now in its pajama.
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  With the rest of Madrid contemplating.
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  Or sleeping.
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  Sleeping real hard. Sleeping like no other capital does.
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  This is actually the roof of our own bedroom, one of the most central spot of the Spanish capital, possibly the darkest one too.
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  Our rooftop, however, is in the eternal light from the eternal Madrid, Mayrit, Magerit... the Matrice.
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  Elena, unaware of the night peeking at her.
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  Back to the intimacy of the lights of humans, at home.
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  This home that gives its back to the Plaza Mayor.