Prizma

Taxi receipts gathered near an 18th-century lamppost, each one marking a stray errand.

Pearl Drops Gleam in Moonlight

Monday’s first train left at 6:01. Only four passengers watched the tunnels swallow light — the minutes ticked colder, slower. Even the conductor seemed tired of numbers. Receipt #812 proved the meal was real. On table 3, laughter scattered; three coins and a folded napkin remained. Memory lingered in simple sums. The clock offered 15:44, an impossible shade of afternoon. By the fifth email, all plans had collapsed into dust. “Are we really late?” No one answered.

Three apples bruise in the bottom of a borrowed bag. The baker counts 97 pastries, flour drifting through cracks. On street corners, children tally tires and candy.

Brunch in Paris – dress by Hermès, shoes by Gucci