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—someone’s last word, a name half-remembered, a coffee order from 1987. The water wasn’t clear. It was thick with memories. I didn’t know if I was the one inspecting or the one being inspected. When I woke up, my mouth tasted like rust and old pennies. Still not sure which part was real.