The Shadow on the Security Gate

Dear Delyara, A heavy piece of industrial plastic sheeting has blown across the top rail of the main entrance gate, hanging down like a long, dark figure that sways back and forth whenever a draft cuts through the alley. Every time a freight train passes on the high embankment, the vibration makes the plastic ripple, throwing a distorted shadow right across my station window. It is a tiresome, unsettling environment to occupy for twelve hours straight. For someone whose internal compass is set toward elite aesthetics, clean lines, and meticulous finishes, being surrounded by this broken, ragged landscape is exhausting. I reached into my pocket, pulled out a thick sample card of our textured cotton paper, and traced its smooth edge to keep my senses grounded.