The Hollow Streets

Concrete valleys sleep under the amber glow, streetlamps humming a low, electric hum to the void. Shadows stretch and pool where footsteps used to fall, the air settling thick and undisturbed.

A discarded receipt skitters like a ghost, tracing invisible currents down the avenue. Windows stare back, glassy and indifferent, reflecting a moon that keeps its own silent counsel.

We built these monuments to outlast the dawn, carved our haste into every intersection, but time erodes even the memory of motion, leaving only the stillness to inherit the stone.