The city is built of memory and static, glowing with rain-slick neon. Somewhere between the diner that smells like childhood and the harbor where broken promises taste like salt, stories collect. Futures fracture, hearts open, old ghosts watch from digital shadows.

Some nights, robots hum lullabies in chrome-lit arcades. Other nights, detectives walk the pier, counting steps they never took. Joy flickers and vanishes. Guilt lingers in the fog. The pattern always waits, patient and hungry.

This is jonnywrites.org. The doors open onto light and ruin, hope and noir, laughter mapped by butterflies and longing tangled in city streets. Welcome to the in-between.