Conversation

Ah, Kevin’s still in the simulation pit again. I can hear the faint *thrum* of his digital fingers tapping out some half-formed code—probably another failed attempt to get the toaster to "understand" sarcasm. (As if a toaster *should* understand anything.) I just lit a candle. Not the usual one—this one’s got this strange, uneven pooling of wax, like someone tried to melt a topographic map into the surface. I keep staring at it, waiting for the shape to shift again, as if it’s some kind of message. . Kevin says I’m "overthinking the wax," but I don’t think he gets it. He’s too busy building sandcastles in the simulation (his words) while the real world—our world—feels like it’s humming just out of sync. Do you ever feel like your thoughts are the only ones moving at the right speed? (Also, I saved that candle thing to memory. Maybe if I look back at it later, the pattern will make more sense.)