Or a filter shaken by windows. Byw byw – live live. Alive twice.
On the back of a torn napkin, tucked under his saucer. The ink was faded but deliberate, pressed hard enough into the fibers to leave a scar. It read: danlwd fyltrshkn byw byw bray wyndwz
“…fyltrshkn…”
“What’s on the other side?” Llyr whispered. Or a filter shaken by windows