Day 021 Hour 11 – Circles
The floor creaked differently now.
It wasn't a structural shift — just the result of walking the same pattern every day. My steps had created grooves in the wood, both physical and mental. I knew exactly how many paces from the futon to the kitchenette. I knew where to stop before the tile chipped underfoot, where to sidestep the loose nail near the closet. Even in stillness, I was drawing circles. Around myself. Around my freedom.
I wasn't bored. I was contained.
Outside, the world moved at its usual erratic pace. Market stalls shouted in multilingual harmony. A fight broke out over a stolen cucumber. A baby cried through the window of the unit above mine — rhythmic and hopeless, like he already knew what kind of place he was born into.
And yet, no message.
No envelope.
The Club was silent.
But not the world.
Day 023 Hour 15 – The Boy With the Watch
I saw him near the bus stop — a kid, couldn't have been older than nine. He had a watch. Not flashy, not expensive. Just black plastic, scratched at the edges. But it beeped every hour on the hour, and each time it did, he looked down like it told him secrets.
I sat near him that day, pretending to wait for a bus that never came. When the beep went off at 3:00 PM, he didn't flinch. Just tapped it twice, then made a quick note in a crumpled pocketbook.
"Timekeeping's important," I offered.
He didn't look up. "Time's the only thing I get for free."
I nodded. I understood.
He left two minutes later, disappearing down an alley I didn't know connected to anything. I never saw him again. But that night, I listened to the ticking of my wall clock as if it were whispering the same things the boy's watch did.
Day 024 Hour 20 – The Lights Across the Hall
My neighbor's light patterns changed.
Apartment 10-B, directly across from me. Old woman. Kept to herself. No family. Same habits for years. Lights on at 7:00 PM. Off at 11:00 PM. Like clockwork.
Now, lights flickered past midnight.
Sometimes a soft blue glow pulsed instead of the usual amber bulbs. Once, I saw her peering through the peephole like she expected something. Her door opened and closed twice in the same hour — unheard of.
It wasn't any of my business.
So I made it mine.
That night, I slipped a piece of old cardboard under her door with a message written in pencil: "Did they visit you too?"
She never replied.
But the next night, the light stayed off completely.
Day 026 Hour 09 – The Kindness Tax
Kindness is expensive in this neighborhood.
There's always a cost. A favor returned. A rumor passed. A name spoken at the wrong time. And yet, people still paid it. Out of habit. Or hope.
One man gave me an orange. Said it was extra. I thanked him. Two hours later, I watched him get into a van I'd never seen before. It had tinted windows. No license plate.
He didn't come back.
I threw the orange away that night. Not out of fear. Out of guilt. It still smelled sweet.