𝙁𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙘𝙚𝙨 - 𝙎𝙪𝙛𝙟𝙖𝙣 𝙎𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙨. My apartment is never completely quiet. Even at night, the city hums through the walls, and the radiator clicks like it’s keeping time. I live on the fourth floor, just high enough to feel removed, not high enough to escape anything. Across the street, there’s a window that’s always lit. At first, it was just part of the scenery—another rectangle of light in a city full of them.