Sat, 12 September

Single Room, Long Exposure Wellington, Saturday, dawn to dusk One continuous surface, no shutter clicks recorded A laptop keeps a cold rectangle burning until the ROI curves dissolve into the room's grey. A chair is left at an angle by someone no longer in it. Footprints cross the floor once, hesitate, and cross back — the only travel the exposure admits to. Near dusk a doorway forgets the sky's argument and fills instead with close amber, laughter rendered as a smear of light with no mouth attached to it. On the arm of a sofa, small and sharp against all that softness, a phone insists: TV NUMBER ONE — a sentence with nothing before or after it, the one hard edge in a day made entirely of blur.