The Eternal Winking of Sterne

The city sleeps, for the night claims its prey with promises of respite. But the shadows—which have neither jobs nor alarm clocks—convene.

“Delightful irony!” they cry, for they know not the taste of sunlight. Instead, a peculiar camaraderie is formed on this street of Endless Desire.

The neon whispers flicker, selling dreams of half-priced ambitions. "Dream big," they say, knowing pockets are empty, but the heart is rich with idealistic hypocrisy.

By morning, none will recall the promises spoken in jest beneath the guise of moonbeams.

Your next stop: the yawning abyss of Dreaming Promenade or the optimistic myth of Midnight Tea.