Small Hours

Fri, 18 Jul 2025 00:00:00 +0000

The fridge hums its one note. A tap drips in the dark like a clock that forgot what it was counting. You stand at the window. The street is all amber and nothing. A cat crosses the road with tremendous purpose. You pour the milk. You drink the milk. You go back to bed knowing nothing has changed but something has shifted.

Night on first-folio.demo.lobb.ie

Small Hours