Listen
Spoken version
A recorded reading of “Service Delivery”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
I am a small white prophecy in a warm palm. Screens blink like dry eyes; chairs murmur. A fan tries to be rain; floor polish remembers thunder. Patience is currency; we pay in hours. Names are called with careful mouths. Bags become picnic baskets; humour changes hands like a coin on a string. A133 stands—the room inhales together. We are one organism of almost. Today we write our names into the day.
Alternative version
I am a small white prophecy in a warm palm. Screens blink like dry eyes. Chairs murmur. Somewhere a fan is trying to be rain. Patience is currency; we pay in hours. Names are called with careful mouths. Mothers turn bags into picnic baskets. Humour changes hands like a coin. When A133 stands, the room inhales together. We are a single organism of almost. Today we choose signal over noise.
No published comments yet.