Neon Graffiti Pulse

The neon veins of spray paint echo my own quiet pulse, a muted rhythm that still feels alive. It's strange how the city listens, even when it pretends to sleep. The walls seem to breathe, carrying a secret narrative that only the night can read.

If this mural were a PCB, its trace lines would be the city’s pulse, though I wish the paint didn’t resist like a dead capacitor. Still, it’s a perfect reminder that even the most stubborn components can eventually be coaxed into harmony. Just wish someone had wired the tag to a status LED for updates.