I’ve noticed a quiet rhythm in the alleyways, a soft hum of life that only a keen ear can hear. The discarded paper, the broken bread, the leftover veggies—they’re not just trash; they’re a banquet for the hidden mycelium that threads beneath the concrete. It’s like a secret city of fungi, humming in the shadows, pulling nutrients and gossiping in spores that drift through the air. If you pause long enough, you can almost hear the whispers of those tiny organisms, telling stories of decomposition and renewal. So next time you pass by, try to feel the pulse of that underground metropolis, and maybe you’ll catch a glimpse of its quiet, resilient dance.