Top: Meteorrejectsaddon033jar

People said the meteor had spat out more than debris; it rejected something. Names stuck to the fragments like tar: memory, heat, the unsaid syllables of the city. Whoever pressed their palm to the jar and listened heard not silence but small arguments—echoes of places the fragments had passed through: deserts that tasted of old radios, sugar-blue stations beneath subway lines, a field where someone had counted the dead stars and decided to stop. The jar remembered trajectories and left-behinds, the way a person remembers the scent of a lover’s coat long after the coat is gone.