Some weeks run like Kabukicho never closing — bright, loud, and constant — until you've forgotten how to come down from the wound-up state.

A banked red letting its grip go, rimmed in black. It has the weight of warm steel and a held breath finally let out.

Staying wound-up for a week can feel like the only gear left; mostly it just won't release. It powers nothing down for you — it holds a place in the constant bright where the wound-up hold can finally unwind.