From a solitary fan a light thrum of air switched to the lowest holds a laptop from burning the entire bedroom to itself.
The streets begin to crawl but time. And space is a contradiction. This side of the road is unable to move beyond an inch during rush-hour. It begs
One leaves the highways for the narrow streets meandering to unknown parts. A bridge crossing a dead river finds a rough patchof lush green harboring defiant roots.
Everything is suspended except time when radio news shut down weary eyes and petrified smoke gently rise above incensed road burning white translucent