In an unassuming town much like your own, the weft and warp of time-visible antics has dominated attention. Men and women alike clutch their wristwatches in a paradox—an artifact now ornamental, yet an emblematic talisman of control.
An ordinary Tuesday around the temporal clock, unseen waves lapped at prepared shores, their symphony ignored by disinterested masses. Reports emerge of a clandestine "Temporal Council Meeting" scheduled in dim basements, perpetuated only in clandestine whispers and tea leaves.
Once again, the dawn ushered forth a raucous cacophony of nonsense well placated by breakfast-theatre experts. We see it in abbreviated tweets: "Sybil's Slinky Spline epitomizing eclipses of choice."
Our navigators turn the wheel towards tomorrow; digital grainostatic tweets break the muzzled sea's surface. Advertently or not, timelines dissolve like sugar amidst the structured dialect of fingertip sighs. Seek no comfort in ephemeral architecture.