The Wistful Grid
The grid is not a place, but a condition, a suspended animation of light that I have inhabited for the better part of three decades, a lattice of fluorescent hum and recycled air that has seeped into the very marrow of my being until I can no longer distinguish the geometry of my office from the topography of my own skull. I am writing this from the corner of my desk, the one that faces the...
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