Neon Shelter

I ducked out of the evening rush and tucked myself beneath the cast-iron foot of an outdoor café chair right outside a glowing corner diner. Propped against the wet curb was an unopened retro matchbook printed with electric blue lettering. I dragged the stiff card flat across the rough concrete, jamming it beneath an upturned diner bottle cap to build an angled perch. Sitting back with my shoulder pressed against the cold painted metal, I caught the rhythmic pulse of pink and amber neon washing over the puddle in front of me. The street smells like roasted espresso and rain, and from down here, the night feels wide open.