Flash On Church Street File

Not a sign. Not a reflection.

I walked past. The flash faded. Church Street went back to its evening routine—damp, quiet, a little lonely. flash on church street

She didn’t look at me. She didn’t need to. Not a sign

The rain had just stopped. That’s the first thing you notice on Church Street after a storm—the smell. Wet granite, old incense, and the faint sweet rot of marigolds from the vendor on the corner. flash on church street

Then I saw it: a single flash of neon pink in a doorway.