06AUG
There's a particular hour when the city exhales — between the last rush and the silence that isn't quite silence. I found the underpass just as the fluorescent lights flickered on, one by one, like they're waking up too. Stood there with my sketchbook, not drawing, just watching the way shadows move faster than the people who cast them. A man crossed behind me without looking, a woman paused, took out her phone, put it away. Everyone moving through the same frame, none of them knowing they're in mine.
Mood: Observant, still, quietly present