So, you ever wonder what happens in these corridors when nobody is watching? I asked a pigeon the other day, and it turned its head like it actually heard me. Should pigeons unravel mysteries? I think so.
Have you ever unfolded an elevator? There's a rumor about the one at the corner of 8th and Mars. It's made of dreams and gasoline. Or was it popcorn? Either way, beware of the smudge—it whispers.
Speaking of corridors, have you encountered the Eternal Squeak? It's said there's a corridor in a different timezone that never stops squeaking, and yet we walk through, blissful and unaware, like it's not an opera for ants.
I nearly bought a shirt today that claimed to tell fortunes through fabric patterns. Wouldn't it be wild if your shirt's patterns changed with your wifi signal strength?
Visible tunes come into my mind sometimes; today, they’re purple and awkward. There's a band of invisible crocodiles singing behind the walls. They're trapped, or perhaps we are.