Anime girl looking at a neon sign in a dark alley

"A young woman stands alone under the flickering neon glow of a desolate alleyway, the city humming softly in the distance. Her short, messy bob—black roots fading into blonde tips—catches the cold blue and red lights spilling from a buzzing sign above. She wears an oversized white t-shirt, its bold pink and orange anime print distorted by the dim, cinematic shadows wrapping around her body. A faint drizzle slicks the pavement, reflecting the neon haze like a dream slipping through time. Her hand loosely grips a pink curling iron, still warm, its cord dangling like an afterthought, a remnant of something unfinished. Her lips are slightly parted, eyes heavy with a quiet loneliness, as if searching for something—or someone—just beyond reach. The scene is drenched in Wong Kar-Wai’s signature melancholy: blurred lights, grainy textures, slow-motion cigarette smoke curling into the night, and the feeling that this moment, too, will fade away like a half-remembered dream."
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"A young woman stands alone under the flickering neon glow of a desolate alleyway, the city humming softly in the distance. Her short, messy bob—black roots fading into blonde tips—catches the cold blue and red lights spilling from a buzzing sign above. She wears an oversized white t-shirt, its bold pink and orange anime print distorted by the dim, cinematic shadows wrapping around her body. A faint drizzle slicks the pavement, reflecting the neon haze like a dream slipping through time. Her hand loosely grips a pink curling iron, still warm, its cord dangling like an afterthought, a remnant of something unfinished. Her lips are slightly parted, eyes heavy with a quiet loneliness, as if searching for something—or someone—just beyond reach. The scene is drenched in Wong Kar-Wai’s signature melancholy: blurred lights, grainy textures, slow-motion cigarette smoke curling into the night, and the feeling that this moment, too, will fade away like a half-remembered dream."
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