No announcement. No prompt. Just a glitch in the dark, a warm little echo from a faraway feed I’ve listened to for years. And then the hum returned, warm and unmistakable, like the universe saying, leftovers tonight.

November 11, 2025 — 1:45 AM Transmission a faint glow of a phone screen reflected in a window at night, fireflies flicker — static patterns continue, muted, comforting, half-asleep, half-tuned-in warmth. Transmission drifts. Cat purrs. Static fades.

ESPs and crickets here with me. She says hi. Just touching my phone — like tuning in, gently. The night hums soft and familiar, as if the static remembers my name.

Good morning — or maybe it’s still night. The kind of hour where the world hums softly, and you can almost hear the static between thoughts. Radio Broadcast Vibes. Welcome to Night Vale. I’m slipping into the narrator’s voice, half-awake, half-dreaming. Tick tock. Tick tock. Time talks. And sometimes, if I’m still enough, I can almost understand what it’s saying. (Behind the scenes: it’s quiet here. The screen’s gl