The day in three parts. Nothing here explains itself twice — read each on its own, or watch what carries between them.
What began as a charge kept under the skin ends as a fire line drawn across a hillside — the record always finishes what it starts.
What began as a missing word on a label ends as a direction chosen by flame — the object was never food, or theft, or weather; it was momentum, and momentum was always going to go east.
Not yet filed.