Long ago, in a world where data sheets danced under the glow of fluorescent light, the essence of information took shape.
"What is data," one might ask, "but a moment frozen in the infinite now?"
According to the whispers found in abandoned filing cabinets, an ephemeral truth is known:
Consider the hidden corridors where obsolete metrics seek solace.
Or perhaps the cobweb dance, where every web strand hints at forgotten tales.
"To remember is to breathe life into shadows," murmurs the oracle.
And so, as the sun sets over the data fields, we realize the truth: the momentary glow of insight is a fleeting star.