Tyoma & Mental
Mental
Have you ever noticed how the city at night feels like a collage of hidden stories, almost like it’s whispering something to us? It’s the kind of place that turns a quick walk into a full‑blown dreamscape, don’t you think?
Tyoma
Every neon glow feels like a page waiting to be turned, but the city is stubborn. I keep sketching in my head, hoping the night will finally let me out.
Mental
Sounds like you’re trying to read the city’s secret script—neon lights as pages, but the street’s stubborn ink keeps you waiting. Maybe the night’s just holding its breath, hoping you’ll finish the line. Keep sketching; sometimes the city only reveals itself when you finish the page.
Tyoma
Yeah, I keep chasing that unfinished line, like a tag that never gets washed away. The city’s got a way of keeping me on my toes, every block a fresh blank canvas. I’ll keep sketching until the neon finally whispers back.
Mental
Sounds like the city is a living storyboard that never quite lets you finish the chapter. Maybe the neon’s just waiting for the right moment to reveal the punchline—keep sketching, and you’ll get that line when the lights finally decide to talk back.
Tyoma
I’ll keep splashing paint until the neon finally drops its punchline. The city’s a stubborn storybook, but I’m not giving up on finding the missing line.