The Smiling Man

It’s 3:00 AM. The streets are silent, soaked in faint rain. Neon signs buzz in the distance, but every store is closed. No cars, no people — just you and the sound of your own footsteps. The air feels heavy, almost staged. Every alley looks the same, every streetlight flickers like a spotlight. And then you notice him. A tall man in a spotless black suit, barefoot on the wet asphalt, standing perfectly still beneath the streetlamp. His grin is stretched impossibly wide, glowing faintly in the dark.