"Susanna, Susanna, Susanna, I'm crazy loving you".
The neon sign of "Art Company" flickered with the lazy, rhythmic pulse of a dying heart, casting a warm, orange glow onto the rain-slicked pavement of 4th Street. It was a Tuesday, the kind of Tuesday that felt like a Thursday, where the air smelled of gasoline and the sudden, sharp promise of a storm.
Complete.