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The evening is long, as the sun remains bright until the very last moment before it falls behind the huge mountains in the west. So, you have lots of time to appreciate the transition from day's friendly hubbub into the magical otherworld of a Burning Man night.
As the action picks up -- traffic increasing, generators chugging up to speed, the occasional roar of someone testing their flamethrower, neon flickering to life -- you can feel the human energy rise with it. The day's focus on mechanical or spatial art refocuses on the personal, on the transformed humans around you. When people parade naked during the day, it's a statement of self-confidence, of freedom; when night falls, it becomes explicitly, unmistakably sexual. As dusk creeps in, you and everyone around you look inside yourselves, find that persona you've been hiding for so long, the you that is outrageously, nakedly, exuberantly sensuous, and ready to be that you in front of how ever many thousands of others you'll pass tonight.
 The Man is your model, the perfect icon, standing naked for all to see, lit up, public, triumphantly present in the fading light. You've lived your whole life being told to hide your wild self, to conform, not to make a scene -- but there he is, beconing you to strip yourself of your mental clothes, just this one night.
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