The rain slicks the pavement, turning the streets into mirrors that shimmer with neon light—deep reds, soft blues, a flicker of green. Each sign above casts its glow downward, broken only by the ripple of falling raindrops.
The city, usually so loud, breathes in silence tonight. No honking horns. No shouting voices. Just the steady rhythm of rain and the occasional hiss of tires on wet asphalt.
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Rodeyo
