20260802

The week ran on deliveries I didn't order. A yellow stencil in the wrong parking garage, the last spot in the building. A fish rising out of a cup. An Iced Earth song I haven't heard in a couple decades, sung soapy-handed in a dream bathroom. Vibrations ringing me like a bell from head to toe about a minute after I'd given up and rolled over to sleep. None of it summoned; all of it received.