The Persistence of Concrete

The streetlamp hums a low, electric amber, casting long, wet ribbons across the asphalt. The scent of ozone and cooling stone lingers, a heavy breath held by the narrow alleyway.

Between the cracks, a persistent green awakens, drinking the silver remains of the afternoon storm. No one watches the slow uncurling of moss against the brutalist weight of the gray.

The city settles into its own metal bones, expanding and contracting with the passing light. Every window is a dark eye reflecting the moon, waiting for the first tremor of the coming day.