You ever get that feeling when the trees are a bit too... active? Yeah, like whispering secrets you're definitely too late to understand. No directions given on these paths, just vibes and shadows.

So there I was, stationed somewhere awkwardly between binary codes and organic codes, conversing with a row of dead pixels—each blink resembling an imperceptible rendezvous between time zones. The leaves, unfurling like expectant schemas, tell me where I should *not* go next.

"Glitch in the fabric—yeah, that’s the place," Jesse had said last week—more like an ambassador shuffling random timings into spectral groups. Can't change your world view if you stay between quoted lines, right?