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Spoken version
A recorded reading of “Chorus of Marshals & Commuters”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
Hooters tune the street to warm‑up. Tickets rustle like small birds. A jacket becomes a flag; a hand, a lane. We count the city by elbows. Someone sells the weather by the sip; steam lifts from tea. Engines kneel, stand, praise. We braid our routes into one road. The sun signs its name on every bonnet. Yebo—we move.
Alternative version
Hooters tune the street for warm-up. Tickets rustle like small birds. A jacket becomes a flag; a hand, a lane. We count the city by elbows. Someone sells the weather by the sip. Shoelaces become promises. Engines kneel, then stand, then praise. We braid our routes into one road. The sun signs its name on every bonnet. Yebo, we move.
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