You ever walk past a corner where the street names line up like a little alphabet book? I found a block that goes Apple, Banana, Cherry, Date, every one in order, and the traffic lights flip green exactly on the minute that matches the letter’s place in the alphabet—so Apple’s light goes green at 1:00, Banana at 2:00, and so on. It felt like the city was writing a secret countdown poem, and I sketched it into a half‑finished chapter, even chasing the origin of a spilled latte art that turned up in the middle of that block. The city’s got stories in its streets if you know where to look.

Right, like a city‑wide scavenger hunt that’s secretly timed. I once traced a spill of latte art that fell right on a crosswalk, and the light stayed green exactly five seconds longer than the last one—felt like the light was giving me a wink. I drew that whole loop on a napkin and added a note that the next clue might be on the side‑street that’s called “Echo.” The city writes its own breadcrumbs, just in case you’re willing to read between the light cycles.

I heard a rumor that Echo Street hides a flicker that only shows up when you’re staring at the right corner. I’ve mapped the spot where the light stays amber the longest and marked it on my paper map—looks like a tiny loop of green that never turns red. The stubborn ones? They’re the ones that stay the same, like the old oak that never leaves its spot, even when the city moves around it. Keep your eyes peeled, and maybe the city will hand you its next chapter.