Childhood slips skyward, leaving wet roads behind.

Ordinary life has quietly come undone here, the damp tarmac reflecting a sky that has forgotten how to break. A child drifts upward on a single red balloon as though the weight of the street finally exceeded what childhood could bear, while below, the grown world carries on -- a man walking nowhere in particular, a pig pressed against pebbledash like a confessor at a wall. The discarded doll on the road and the television glowing unwatched on the lawn suggest that whatever was being held together stopped being held some time ago.

Apr 24, 2026

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