By noon on Crown Street the new bill had swallowed the wall: acrobats in scarlet, horses in profile, a comet of type shouting above the baker's sign. I watched three clerks miss their omnibus because the paper made haste look ungenerous.
The bill is a machine for attention
A plain notice merely informs; a crowded poster recruits. Its borders corral the eye, its capitals beat time, and its gold medallions make an ordinary Tuesday feel briefly governed by spectacle.
Every inch must earn its trumpet
The old printers understood abundance as public service. A ribbon announces the hour, a flourish lends authority, and a second typeface enters like a brass section so no passerby mistakes the wall for silence.