The plaza felt bigger today.
Not because it had grown—
but because fewer feet had passed through it.
The usual vendor down two stalls hadn't set up.
No sizzling oil.
No morning banter.
Just cold cement and a half-folded umbrella leaning against a crate.
Even the bread guy hadn't come.
Just an old delivery bike leaning near a lamp post,
and a few pigeons pecking at nothing in particular.
Jun moved the same way he always did.
Tote over shoulder.
Cloth tucked under his arm.
Breath steady.
But the absence carried weight.
He reached his usual spot.
Laid the cloth out without flourish.
The creases held their shape.
The grinder clicked once when he set it down—
not broken, just reminding him it was still there.
The city hadn't stopped.
But something in its rhythm had shifted.
He glanced around—not to count people, but to notice space.
The distance between footfalls.
The way voices didn't overlap.
How the wind carried farther than usual.
