The gap at the base of the support post is just wide enough to catch the light, a perfect, oblong absence where the lowest screw should be. Against the scuffed concrete bench, the single person stacks the discarded flyers, their edges scraping a steady, dry rhythm against the curb. The sound is too loud for the late afternoon quiet, a small, insistent friction that seems to vibrate up through the soles of your shoes. Nearby, the overturned metal receptacle holds a small, precarious pile of empty plastic bottles, catching the last yellow light filtering through the timetable glass. You watch the dust film settling on the bench seat, undisturbed by the methodical, necessary order of the paper stack. It is the effort of making this corner look functional, of making the gap invisible, that takes the most visible energy.
hush · calm