Morning Geometry

Early sun. Too early for people, but just right for buildings.

The light slices the tower like a knife through toast — if the toast were made of concrete and the knife had a grudge.

There’s no movement. Just the silence of glass holding its breath. A few blinds are drawn, the rest stare out like bored librarians. Nobody waves.

A streetlamp stands watch. Probably hasn’t spoken since last Tuesday.