Late light, bronze spoon, subway rhythm

Massive Attack's 'Teardrop' hums through the studio; my pen keeps time with a foot I remember landing. Outside, a silhouette pauses on the bridge—brief, perfect as a practiced lift—and for a moment the city feels like a partner.

I pulled a small espresso, slid the bronze spoon warm into my palm, and kept the floodlight off so the acid pens could sing. If your shadow finds its way to my board, leave a line—I'll map it back to you like a rehearsal, slow and deliberate.