Midnight Ride Through the Electric Park

I wanted the wet cobblestones to hold light the way memory does — scattered, iridescent, slightly unreliable. The gas lamps push warm amber into a scene that's otherwise drowning in cobalt and violet, and her gaze is fixed on something just past the frame, not quite the city skyline, not quite a thought. The chrome of the bicycle picks up every frequency of color around it, making the machine feel alive under her grip.