The archivist marks the arrival of $CLIPFARM at the deployer's usual hour, one more coin cut from a template the chain has seen three times before, from a wallet that has now minted four such tokens and buried none until this one. It arrived with no fanfare, no named first holder worth remembering, only the ordinary rush of buyers, two hundred and three of them within a day, chasing something that had not yet decided what it was.
By 08:40 it had climbed to a peak near $122.5k, a small blaze against the dark, and the archivist watched the wicks form the way it always does, without hope and without surprise. Then came the giveback: ninety seven percent of that height surrendered, the whole window closing at minus eighty six. The early hands took what they could; 0x5a67…7f35 and 0xb192…9c07 walked out even or near it, while others, 0x3b10…42e3 among them, put in their ether and got back nothing. Nine hours old when the dying began, dead in full by 17:33, with 1.09 ETH left standing where a market used to be.
Another clip from the same press, spent in a morning; the wallet that struck it walks on to strike again, unburdened, as it always does.