A long long time ago (well, not quite since Mihai entered stately the citadel of Alba Iulia!) in Cluj, there was a street named Sunset (note, not “Of the Setting Sun”, but plain Sunset). I always liked the name of the street; it seemed somehow odd, peculiar, strange, poetic, “thought-provoking”. I did like the name, though not the street. Well, there wasn't anything to like at all. A street of complete absence, flooded in absence. That is, once you got there, you were sure not to run into anyone (maybe a housewife wrapped in a dressing gown, passing by to a next-door housewife wrapped in her own dressing gown, or, season-depending, wrapped in a cloak; and that would be all). From the courtyards you'd get barked at by solitary mongrels eager to beat the air. Not quite totally surprisingly (but considering the starting point, to be sure) this street took you towards the sunset. Not even after I learnt that my wife once lived in this street (as tenant), back when she was not yet (my wife, that is), but when she was a student.
What on earth could you be looking for in this street? No-thing. Nothing at all. There were no shops, not even a tavern, as for firms, back then, nothing of the kind. (“Back then” = 30-40 years ago, I beg your pardon, that would be some 1,500 days; imagine that! 36,000 hours! In minutes? Scores.) Hence, what could you be looking for in this street? Kins (not me), babes (none), architectural exquisiteness (not a chance), the shade of the trees on the sidewalk (any of the former, and the sidewalk was rather scarce)... what else? Or, if mandatory (for instance if you were postman, policeman or bailiff – again not me), or simply moonstruck (like me). Let me disambiguate:
This street was so uncommon that, quite often, I went by (and, to be honest, back then I was tierce my age today) solely to stroll from dawn towards sunset or from sunset towards sunrise. That did not matter at all.