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I can’t sleep because of the Flyers Aquaman Jason Momoa

It’s raining outside. Dim spotlights cast from street lamps draw circles on the wet pavement of a dark road, leading like markers all the way up to the abandoned house. No one lives there anymore, not since the accident that destroyed lives, families, and an entire town. All that is left is creaking doors and battered floorboards covered in dust.

You step closer to the house. There is a figure. The slow pendulum of light behind it, swaying back and forth, casting shadows across the broken-down porch that only the grimiest of rats call home. Light bouncing through the street and onto your face.