The Tin Remembers: The social benefit queue, one day

In a crowded government waiting hall, beneath a roof rusting quietly above rows of patient strangers, a woman waits for a number to be called. Around her, gestures become stories, laughter belongs to everyone, and an official's clipboard cuts briefly through the murmur. Then a stranger opens a small green tin, and the smell of menthol carries her fifty years back to her grandmother's hands, circling slow across her chest, easing an old childhood ache. A short piece of magical realism about memory, patience, and the small kindnesses strangers offer while waiting, told once in verse and once in prose.

Cover created with the assistance of Co-Pilot and Night Cafe.