The Pale Bonsai
You stand before the glass. It is a pane of tempered silica, six millimeters thick, suspended in a frame of brushed steel. Behind the glass, the room is white. Sterile. The air smells of ozone and old dust. You are not a person here. You are a specimen. You are a node in a network of data points. Your name is irrelevant. Your face is a variable. You are studying the curvature of a leaf. Or...
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