A squib is a small firework.

The smallest kind there is. In Japan the gentlest of them is the senkō hanabi: a twist of paper and powder you hold between two fingers. It hisses, gathers a trembling red bead, throws a few stars into the dark, and goes out.

Series 001 hangs one from a cherry branch. Two brief things side by side, one in spring and one in summer, each over almost as soon as it starts. That is the whole idea of the label: small things, big mysteries.

A young man on a wet, neon-lit Shibuya side street at night, glancing back over his shoulder; the sakura and sparkler print and SQUIBS across the back of his Bone hoodie. — Shibuya, after rain