Bones doesn’t rush.
He notices.

He moves through the city the way most people don’t — quietly, watching, leaving just enough behind to be felt. He’s not here to teach, sell, or convince anyone of anything.

Bones has seen things.
Done things.
Felt things most people never say out loud.

Everything’s been stripped.
What mattered stayed.
What didn’t, didn’t survive.

Bones exists in the pause.
In the thought you didn’t say.
In the moment that didn’t need explaining.

Sometimes he leaves a line.
Sometimes a sign.
Sometimes proof you were part of it.

No judgment here.
Just straight talk.

If you’ve seen it, you get it.
If you haven’t, you will.

Bones was here.