Postscript
Corrections kept in the margin before they reach the page.
A running list of small wrongs I noticed after publishing — wrong bus numbers, misremembered stall names, weekdays mistaken. Nothing dramatic; just the honest patches.
Corrections written in the margin — the honest patches.
- Fixed 4 August 2026Along the Old Line — I wrote the park connector gate as "closed after six"; it is locked nearer seven on weekdays. The note now says "early evening".
- Fixed 22 July 2026The Bus Has to Climb — I had the service as 67 when it was 961M on the morning I rode. Corrected in the body and the footnote.
- Fixed 9 June 2026Four Steps Up to the Market — I named the wrong fish stall row; it is the nearer aisle, not the back one.
- Fixed 18 May 2026The Cup Before the Climb — I said Tuesday; it was Wednesday. Dateline unchanged; day of week fixed in paragraph two.
- Fixed 30 March 2026A Window That Needs Cleaning — I wrote "north-facing" when the window looks east over the car park. Direction corrected.
- Fixed 14 February 2026From Where I Was Standing — I said forty metres; on a second walk it felt closer to thirty. I kept the uncertainty and changed the number.
If you spot another slip, write — I prefer a quiet correction to a silent wrong.
The afternoon light on Toh Yi Drive has its own habit of arriving late, slanting across the corridor tiles after the hill has already taken the sun. I notice these small shifts because I live with them — the lift that smells of rain, the tree shade by the car park, the folded receipt I keep inside a notebook on the kitchen table. None of this is news; it is only the texture of an ordinary week above Beauty World, written down before I forget the order of things.
The afternoon light on Toh Yi Drive has its own habit of arriving late, slanting across the corridor tiles after the hill has already taken the sun. I notice these small shifts because I live with them — the lift that smells of rain, the tree shade by the car park, the folded receipt I keep inside a notebook on the kitchen table. None of this is news; it is only the texture of an ordinary week above Beauty World, written down before I forget the order of things.
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