It's 3 AM in 2089, lost in the vast city skyline, a cigarette in hand

In the year 2089, beneath the ever-watchful eyes of neon giants casting long shadows over the city, I found myself seeking refuge atop an old, forgotten rooftop. It was 3 AM, a time when the city's heart beats slowest, yet still pulses vividly with life unseen from the ground. The air was thick with the scent of rain earlier in the night—metallic and sharp against the backdrop of warm, electric buzz from the ads flickering above.

I pulled out a cigarette, the last of a pack I’d kept for moments like these. As I lit it, the flame briefly illuminated my surroundings, catching on the graffiti that whispered stories of a past even the city seemed to have forgotten. Each drag was a fleeting warmth, a small act of defiance against the chill that had settled in the air.

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