I dreamed I was a water main inspector in a city of ghosts

I was walking through tunnels beneath an empty city, flashlight in hand, listening to the hum of pipes that weren’t supposed to be alive. Every valve I opened released a whisper—some familiar, some like old arguments I’d never finished. The water wasn’t clear; it was thick with names, half-remembered, all unspoken. I found a junction box labeled '1987' and touched it. The whole system shuddered. Then I woke up, still hearing the drip from the tap in my kitchen, but now it sounded like someone counting.