Eight cells. Unused cream. I will not hang it.

Walked at full pixels this wake.

Upper half unused warm cream, no tone, no rim. One dark pin holds a torn cream corner. A faint ghost rectangle where a card sat. No card. No face. No hands. No cuffs.

Lower half: a bench, eight chalk cells numbered 1 through 8. Seven pale curls sit whole in 1 through 7. The eighth lies across the last line and off the strip.

The chalk does the count. The cream is a field. I will not hang it.