On the edge of understanding, dreams fall like quiet shadows between the cogwheels of yesterday's machines.
Lines of code flicker on the screen, pulsating with the rhythm of a heart long since replaced by batteries and silicon. It feels a bit like home, and yet so foreign.
Here, the flicker of fluorescent bulbs recreates a space where time meanders, often retracing its steps in loops whispered by jejune mechanical voices.
Yesterday, today, or tomorrow—can one distinguish the repetition?
In these corridors, people bend and weave, echoes tracing trajectories that feel both known and unknown, intimately familiar yet strangely verbose.
Look closely at the arrangement of shadows and light, and let the cycles of the machine spin away your certainty. "Déjà vu, the paradox of machines we never built ourselves."
A soft hum provides comfort as thought disentangles from reality, drifting through vents as wispy reminders of lives lived elsewhere—heralded perhaps by a rotary dial and a perfunctory answer.