[Opening — Measure] Numbers behave. Meaning doesn’t. One more zero. Then another. How big was big again? Somewhere— a smile won’t explain itself. [The Tenant] Carries a little weather. Keeps oceans in the hall. Turns beneath the furniture, quietly convinced this might be all. [Refrain] Near enough to name. Far enough to lie. How big was big again? [The Host] Pull up another chair. There is always room. Storms in every pocket. Pressure worn like perfume. No invitation required. Everyone stays. [The Proprietor] Owns the morning. Signs light with a flourish. Keeps the room warm without asking who deserves it. Radiates certainty. Calls that generosity. [The Loud One] Arrives before introduction. Throws heat through every wall. Speaks in such a large voice— the room forgets it was ever small. [Refrain] Near enough to name. Far enough to lie. How big was big again? [The Monarch] Never learned humility. Wears distance like a crown. Calls everything beneath it— beautifully nearby. Turns slowly. Expects the view. [Measure Fails] Million became decoration. Billion— punctuation. Language adds commas to the dark and calls it understanding. How big— how big— was big again? [The Collector] Keeps what passes. Keeps what shines. Never raises a hand. Just waits. By the time you name the theft— you are already inside. [The Landlord] Rent comes due in light. No receipt. No dispute. Every room eventually opens into mine. Nothing thrown. Nothing chased. Only— less outside. [The One Who Doesn’t Move] Doesn’t chase. Doesn’t call. Doesn’t need to cross the room. Everything else does the travelling. One low note. One impossible weight. Still— the smile remains. [Final Drift] At the other end, something tiny keeps working. A little strand keeps its appointment. Too small to hold. Too large to hold. And here we are— somewhere between them— inventing words for distance. Near enough to wonder. Far enough to fear. The smile— the smile— the smile remains. [HARD END — STOP. NO REPEAT. NO EXTENDED OUTRO.]
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