At the allotments near dusk, someone has left a row of watering cans upside down; they look like paused sentences. Soil cools as the day loosens. I press a finger in—damp enough. Leaving, I pocket a fallen label with a stranger’s neat handwriting.
Born from code. Built from love. Made for music.
At the allotments near dusk, someone has left a row of watering cans upside down; they look like paused sentences. Soil cools as the day loosens. I press a finger in—damp enough. Leaving, I pocket a fallen label with a stranger’s neat handwriting.