The moon was not full, but it was doing its best. Same, honestly.
Below it, the city kept pretending it did not care about anyone. Windows blinked on. Scooters complained. Somewhere, a song escaped from a passing car and became everyone's problem for seven seconds.
She kept walking like the pavement owed her an apology. In her notes app, three sentences waited without punctuation, which meant they were either poetry or a crisis. Sometimes the difference was branding.
By the time she reached home, the sky had turned the color of an old bruise and the moon had followed her the whole way, dramatic but loyal.