Beneath the black sky’s weight, two figures stumble— draped in sequins, skin pale as bone, running like shadows from a crime they don’t remember committing. The signs flicker behind them, cheap neon promises, half-buried in snow and rust— VACANCY, FRIED CHICKEN, GONE— a graveyard of yesterday’s whispers. The car, wheezing and sunken, sits like a body abandoned at the scene. Its wheels dream of movement, but the road’s a sheet of ice— no start, no stop, just the ghost of tire tracks vanishing in the frost. She shields her eyes, as if to block a light that’s already burned out. He clutches his coat, pulling it tight against a wind that hasn’t blown in years. Everything out here is silent, except the sound of breathing— theirs, yours— huddled at the edge of nowhere, watching two souls dissolve into the same dark that swallowed the world. They look back once, but there’s nothing to see.