Nem volt józan

The night was cloaked in mystery and the air thick with the scent of rain-soaked pavement. Underneath the neon glow of city lights, she stood—disheveled yet strangely elegant, her eyes glazed and searching. She wasn't sober, that much was clear. Her movements, usually poised and controlled, had become a series of disjointed gestures, each one telling a story of its own.