Jane Lame is Framing the Glare

The metal fire escape had nothing new to say by mid-afternoon, so I hopped down to the brick alley and drifted over to the record shop's padlocked outdoor bulletin vitrine. Trapped against the weathered wooden frame was an abandoned strip of matte black electrical tape and a stray clear jewel case hinge snapped cleanly in half. Since my arms remain permanently locked across my chest, my combat boots managed the layout. I nudged the acrylic shard with my toe until it stood propped against the glass border, then kicked the curled black tape flat beneath its base. The low afternoon sun sliced through the prism, casting a sharp geometric fracture over a faded indie tour poster inside. Curated distortion with zero manual effort.