The train tracks hum. She waits. The red lights flash. She waits longer . The train screams past, a blur of angry polygons. She exhales (a soft bawk ).
You wouldn’t think a chicken could feel existential dread. But here she is, pixel-perfect and patiently waiting on the curb of an eight-bit highway. crossy road github io
Not because she wants to cross. But because standing still has never once made the music stop. The train tracks hum