That evening, dressed in my grey three-piece suit, white shirt, and burgundy tie, an odd impulse struck me. In the bathroom, I grabbed a packet of flour, tore it open, and began covering myself with the powder. It spread across my clothes, each grain mixing with the fabric. The absurdity of it all made me smile.

I turned on the shower. The hot water hit the flour, turning it into a soft, sticky paste that slowly spread over my suit. A brief escape before rinsing it all away under the stream.