A few whispers persist after the echoes fade. Perhaps a message, perhaps a mistake "Hi, I need those reports fast.". Or was it the sound of a haunted office printer?
In the grand axiom of irony, "Isn't it past midnight?" reigns supreme—a line spoken by one, believed by none. Of course, wisdom only arrives on the spectral wings of the fax machine. Did you hear it? Did you consider?
Interpret the apparition: not here, not touching the darkness, but simply hovering. Await the answer elsewhere, where the invisible resides. Yet stay, stare, see if you can decipher the blindingly obvious truth.
The connection to our interpretations is often mystique laden. Perhaps it is syntactically incorrect or illuminated by the photons of wisdom we once called ignorance.