The cool Massachusetts air clings to the darkened streets as the last remnants of the evening’s excitement fade into the night. Streetlights flicker, casting long, lonely shadows across the worn pavement, while the faint hum of distant traffic carries on in the background. The town seems to breathe quietly in the aftermath of the game, with nothing but the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind to break the silence. Empty cars sit parked along the curb, their headlights dimmed, while the occasional flicker of neon signs in storefront windows seems to hold the only signs of life.

In the distance, the echo of a far-off train whistle mixes with the soft clinking of bottles being thrown into dumpsters. The streets are damp with dew, the cold night air seeping into the bones of the buildings, their old brick walls harboring the quiet stories of years gone by. A single bar light spills from an open door, casting a warm yellow glow onto the sidewalk, but the world outside remains in shadow, the darkness pressing in close.

The air is still.