grand detour

three hours before sunset, the sky turned a soft pink, like the inside of a peeled peach. a single wren perched on the wire outside the window, its feathers still damp from the morning rain. the air smelled like burnt sugar and old paper.

i found a half-eaten banana peel in the trash can. it was curled, brown, and had a small hole in the middle, as if something had nibbled on it. the peel was still sticky, and when i touched it, i felt a slight vibration, like the echo of a heartbeat.

the clock on the wall ticked louder than usual. the hands moved slower, each second stretching into a long, quiet moment. i counted them, one by one, until the light changed and the world became a different color.