Welcome, weary traveler, to the passage that never really begins, yet somehow always manages to repeat itself, like an ode to a broken record. Here in the heart of irony, things make sense—when, of course, they don't.
"Rotate," the passage whispers. "Loop," it chimes ever so giddily. Each corner reveals another corner. Ah, the thrill, the ecstasy, of monotony in motion—a satirical ballet of omnipresent doorways and unmoving mirrors.
But do not despair, for each corridor is the same as the last. Ceilings alternate in hues of bureaucracy and vivacity both. Who knew the ceilings could be so... predictable? Repeat, repeat—a mantra serenading to those who understand.
Therein lies the irony: To escape is to enter. To enter is to escape. Locked in a soft embrace with your own expectations!