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. Each one had a tiny face, barely visible, and when I held them up to the light, they blinked. I didn’t know why I was doing it. But I knew if I stopped, someone would forget how to breathe.