the bank is full of light

through the glass, the silence of a sunday creeps in. the bank stands empty, its halls untouched. light pours through the blinds, spilling shadows across the floor like forgotten memories. a faint figure lingers, barely there, a silhouette caught in the stillness. the steel, the glass, the air – all quiet, all waiting. it’s a moment that doesn’t belong. the light moves, but no one sees it.

Done