Mixed

The wheel behind the closed market

You paint the word YOURSELF twice. The first version leans right, as though trying to escape its own question. Mera Pell stands behind your ladder and says nobody will notice. You are Orin Sable, twenty-seven, paid to make people notice the words above other people's doors. You scrape the wet letter back and repaint it while the square is still empty. ASK WHAT YOU HAVE HIDDEN FROM YOURSELF. Mera approves the finished sign and pays the agreed first installment. You put it in the pocket where a different envelope is conspicuously absent.