Because in this city, the truth doesn’t walk in daylight. It waits for the dead of night — and it charges a price to be heard.
Between towering buildings and signs promising what no one truly has, a narrow street lives out its own storyline. Headlights cut through the smoke rising from the pavement, as if the city itself is breathing heavily. The police watch in silence, unhurried. Something has happened. Or is about to.
People here have learned to walk staring more at their reflections than the horizon. Time moves differently between concrete and glass, and every corner holds the weight of untold stories.
Because in this city, the truth doesn’t walk in daylight. It waits for the dead of night — and it charges a price to be heard.
