A newsstand sells the day, and the day only: yesterday’s paper is wrapping by morning. A character kept on a newsstand card is kept the opposite way. Redescribed at every sitting, she is reprinted by mood each time — a hairstyle rewritten, a signature detail edited out — and by the ninth frame the stand shows two similar women instead of one. Written once and kept at the front of the stand, the card is the one edition that never goes stale.
The card holds five lines in fixed order. Age — a plain number, and here a mature one. Hair — colour, length and one habitual style. Build — two or three words, no more. Face — one or two details that endure every crop. Signature — the detail that survives even a tight frame. Everything else belongs to the day’s line below the card: outfit, corner, hour, light — printed fresh at every sitting, never confused with the card itself.
The routine is plain. Paste the card, word for word, at the head of every prompt. Generate at the standard cost of 6 credits, keep the best third, and spend on repairs, swaps and upscales only after judging — judged against the card at the stand, not against yesterday’s frame, which may itself have drifted.
The stand turns over daily so the card never has to. Set hers once, in writing, and every day’s edition comes off the same woman.