On a quiet wall in Hiroshima, sleep becomes a public act. A cat stretches into pause, belly up, spine curved, eyes barely pretending to be awake. Pale yellow and warm blush drift into each other like breath. Two red cheeks mark the only real effort. Above, hand-painted letters float upward, like they’re rising from the nap itself. Nothing here demands attention. Everything suggests a break. A wall that doesn’t shout, just politely reminds you that rest is allowed. Even encouraged.