Echo in the Static

Streetlights paint the rain in amber. A symphony of hurried sighs. Another day dissolves

in vapor before my tired eyes. I walk through canyons made of

chrome where neon sermons bleed. And every face is a palindrome

of avarice and need. And the static on the frequency is all that

I can hear. A constant, dull cacophony that feeds upon the fear.

But underneath the noise, your memory draws near. A fragile,

perfect clarity suddenly so clear. You're the echo in the static. A ghost within

the code. A sudden burst of cinematic on this lonely road.