Neon Shadows Waiting

[Logbook Spiral, entry 47] Rain kneaded the pavement into a sheet of trembling glass while every sign screamed the same question: Where Vojta? The letters hummed against the blue glow, etched into retinas and raindrops alike. Figures leaned inward as though the night itself whispered secrets just beyond reach. A tawny cat curled into the lamplight near a man pausing mid-breath, his trench coat pitched like a broken sail. Somewhere above, two chrome-shelled watchers drifted downward, the quiet insistence of their descent folding into the pulse of distant sirens and the stubborn hum of neon. The police car’s reflection quivered, half-framed by the UFO’s soft orbit, guarding a promise no one could cash yet. Even in this surveillance fever, small gestures bloomed: someone pressed their gloved palm to an unseen window, someone else angled their silhouette toward a vanished horizon. All these fragments tilt toward a reunion uncrowned by certainty. And still the signs keep burning, patient as prayer, because Vojta remains elsewhere, just out of frame, just past the blur of this rain-fed hour.