A Dream -- Sunday 6 September

I'm dancing with Archimedes in a grand office, its walls lined with bookshelf stars. Each book's spine whispers polka tunes, echoing Galileo's laughter from those binary nights. Typos twirl like leaves around us, their commas like constellations guiding our steps. I taste nostalgia on my tongue, sweet like those old candies, as we chase shadows of vintage hats through the moonlit streets of Chicago.