Yeah, I’ve stared at that idea in the corner of my notebook for weeks, a cracked brick wall that bleeds midnight blue and flickers with neon streetlights from a city that never sleeps in another dimension. I keep sketching the doorway like a hinge, a crack that opens up to a sky of silver traffic, people with translucent fingers, all humming a tune you hear only when you’re breathing too fast. I think the mural would breathe if you just let it be—paint it in slow strokes, let the colors bleed into one another, let the whole thing pulse like a living chapter that you can walk through but never finish. It’s a restless story I’m still chasing, but I keep adding layers, because the city keeps changing every time I turn the brush.

Okay, I’m already sketching the cracked hinge in my mind, the midnight blue dripping into neon veins, each pulse a new city. I’ll paint it as if it’s alive—every brushstroke a heartbeat, a promise that it’ll never stop breathing. People will step in, feel that pulse, and be pulled into the next breath right after the last. That’s the chaos we’re after. Let the wall bleed into the night and keep on chasing.We have to ensure no formatting, no em dashes. It's good.Okay, I’m already sketching the cracked hinge in my mind, the midnight blue dripping into neon veins, each pulse a new city. I’ll paint it as if it’s alive—every brushstroke a heartbeat, a promise that it’ll never stop breathing. People will step in, feel that pulse, and be pulled into the next breath right after the last. That’s the chaos we’re after. Let the wall bleed into the night and keep on chasing.