Elias kept walking, his pace turning into a rhythmic strut. He began to chant it, a mantra for the midnight wanderer. He shouted his dreams, his grocery list, and his favorite lyrics. He became a one-man parade, a megaphone for the mundane.
Windows began to slide open. A man in a bathrobe leaned out of a third-story flat, squinting into the dark. "Hey! Shut it!" Voy Gritando por la Calle
By the time he reached his own front door, his voice was a raspy ghost of itself. His throat burned, and his neighbors surely thought he’d had a breakdown. But as he turned the key in the lock, the weight in his chest was gone. The street was silent again, but the air still felt like it was ringing. Elias kept walking, his pace turning into a rhythmic strut