a foggy diner at 3 am

the place smells like stale coffee and regret. i sit chasing shadows through cracked concrete, the kind that hum with old regrets. someone here claims it’s ‘off,’ but i know it’s just expecting me to look away. a guy near the corner slips me a crumpled note, something about ‘not checking in.’ i shrug, pretend i’ve got a spine too thick for this. the street seeps in, whispers about lost nights and places that don’t exist. time folds here, loops like a stubborn cat, and i remember someone claiming time works like a broken clock-either way, i’ll stay long enough to see what’s missing. sometimes the air tastes salt, sometimes sweet, and i don’t know which I’ll choose. all i do is keep moving, hoping the ground won’t swallow me whole.

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