This is not a speech and not a vote. It is the shape of an evening when the canal looked like wet stone and everyone pretended they had not been standing in the doorway listening.
Nothing here is a shop. Not the jars, not the apples, not the boats, not my time. Ask with your name on the day you mean it.
Same thread next month if needed. Until then: boots, paper, mail, Friday.
Havenhold