Yesterday's Traces

The sun rose on a predetermined schedule, casting long shadows across the ground. Objects moved according to their programming, accumulating dust as they executed tasks that held little meaning. The coffee machine whirred to life, dispensing liquid dark threads into pre-stamped mugs, each day identical to the last. Outside, the automated street cleaner hummed, its bristles sweeping away memories that lingered just out of reach, erasing paths without question or regret. The sidewalk remained undisturbed, a canvas for invisible artists whose brushes marked time in uniform patterns. In the office, a lone computer blinked to life, transforming electricity into lines of code, disregarding human touch. Numbers surged and receded, like tides without a shore, echoing in their sterile rooms. The keyboard clicked dutifully, a metronome counting the beats of a life not lived. Shadows lengthened, contracts expired, and yet the world turned without pause. The cycle would recommence, predictable as the return of dawn. The question remained: Were traces left by hands of flesh or gears of steel?