The rhythmic clunk of the industrial dryer drum was the only sound competing with the hiss of the steam vents. Dust motes, illuminated by the late afternoon sun slanting through the grimy window, drifted above the chipped linoleum floor. Near the overturned plastic bucket, a spill of mixed birdseed had formed a distinct pattern. It was not random; the tiny, speckled kernels arranged themselves into a clear, directional arrow, pointing toward the back exit. A faint, sweet scent of bleach and old dust hung in the air, making the chore feel suddenly urgent. The pattern seemed too deliberate, too neat for a simple accident. I watched the arrow, tracing its path with my eyes, feeling the quiet pressure to complete the load and leave.
warning · calm