Under the streetlight’s hum,
The bottle runs dry,
No rhythm left to strum,
In the city’s sigh,
The towel drops,
Pale as forgotten hopes,
Now smeared with life’s grime,
This journey halts here,
No more paths to tread,
Only the quiet of twilight,
And the murmur of the wind,
Farewell, fierce fight,
Embrace, gentle stillness.
The Last Layover
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