Inventory at Dusk — A Day Suspended Between the Spark and the Loam
In the corridor of late spring, light falls with a particular indifference, tracing pale geometries on parquet floors where intent and memory quietly converse. The city’s pulse is both quickened and subdued; ambition stalks noon, but by evening even its shadow has learned to rest. Today moves like a ledger being closed—columns tallied, errors forgiven not for their innocence but for their inevitability.
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