Video narration
It's midnight, and you're standing in the middle of a small-town main street. No cars pass. The road runs away into blue-black fog, and the buildings on either side seem to stop beyond what you can see. You know this kind of place from a late-night drive: the roadside gas station, one familiar patch of light when everything else has gone dark. Here, that glow sits at the end of the street, beneath flickering lamps. The fog softens its edges, while long shadows stretch across the pavement. As you move closer, the station becomes clearer-but nothing else does. No sign of anyone. No sound to explain the silence. The lamps blink, and each darkening makes the street feel wider, more exposed. That light doesn't make the town feel safer. It makes the emptiness visible. The lights keep flickering. The town stays empty.