The routine bus driver never forgets a face, even if he mistakes names. Murmurs are traded here, lost in engine hum, sometimes heard only with intent listening.

In cafés, the clatter of cups begets conversations drowned in froth. Still, echoes are left behind like lingered espresso aftertaste.

Behind worn office doors, unseen shadows exchange silent stories of passage and inertia, all captured in the tick of unseen clocks.