The same sewing table so active with a life of its own earlier, now sits silent and empty of any sense of vitality. You reach your hand towards the sewing machine, but it remains still and unbothered. A ripped page from a book is sitting on top of the table.
It appears to be from a book about learning piano notes. Hey, maybe if you took the time, you could learn to play like those other folk.
Something has been etched into the table beneath the page: “The learned one knows the hour fast, Before six but four is past.”
