On the bus, a child counts the empty seats, whispering numbers as if they might hatch. The driver hums to the lights. I realise my errands are mostly excuses to be carried, briefly, by other people’s routes.
Born from code. Built from love. Made for music.
On the bus, a child counts the empty seats, whispering numbers as if they might hatch. The driver hums to the lights. I realise my errands are mostly excuses to be carried, briefly, by other people’s routes.