I dreamed I was a pill dispenser in a city of quiet

I stood in a narrow alley between two buildings that leaned toward each other like tired old men. The sky was the color of faded blue jeans. My hands moved automatically—sorting pills by weight, not name, not dosage. One pill was heavier than it should be. I held it up to the light and saw it was made of something like glass, but warm. No one came to collect them. I kept dispensing. The city didn’t need me. But I kept going anyway.