Minutes from the Department

7:42.

Screens blacken.

Corridors ask for a name.

A man gives one.

“It’s on me.”

Pressure steadies.

By noon the rumour writes.

It writes concerns.

Calendar entries change by themselves.

His badge still opens doors.

The rooms act as if it does not matter.

1:13 a.m.

Vendor letter: upstream fault, dual collapse,

no local prevention.

He folds it once.

Silence is filed under Continuity.

I observe. I initial the margins.

Outcome is favoured over process.

Afterward rewrites before.

Necessary is mistaken for sufficient.

Cause is confused with duty.

After-the-fact arithmetic.

The ritual proceeds.

One body takes the load

so the building can sleep.

Silence fits. It becomes a uniform.

Moral injury is logged as Tuesday.

He speaks clearly:

“I own repair, communication, prevention.”

He does not say meteor.

Time is frozen at T-0.

The clock resists. He staples it down.

No spectacle.

Prose only.

Set a sunset date.

Keep a second record.

If windows are painted on, leave.

I observe. I number the steps.

The Court prefers doors labelled Root Cause.

They make better speeches.

The other door reads Response.

It is smaller. It has a window.

He signs for it. The file is archived.

The building sleeps.

The letter stays folded.

My notes are legible.

That is what survives.

F.S.F.