How long are we actually supposed to sit here doing this? We've been staring at the screen for ages. It's like those old municipal pools back home—just endless tiles and lukewarm chlorine and people waiting for something that never happens. It's draining. My back is already hurting. Stop fidgeting, Hana. Just look at the screen. Something is supposed to happen eventually.
I'm not fidgeting, my leg is just cramped. And stop comparing this to a pool, it's not the same vibe. Did you hear they're closing the library on Fourth Street? Apparently, the mold in the basement stall is structural and the city won't fix it. It's pathetic, really. People just let things rot. I'm not even sure anything is going to happen anyway. Nothing is moving.
The library was always a dump anyway. Who cares about a basement when the whole city is falling apart? It's the same pattern everywhere. People just give up and watch. But you're right about one thing—nothing is moving. That's the point. We sit here while the world rots. Stop complaining about the city budget and just watch the screen. Something's going to change, eventually.
It's not a point, it's just the reality. You think you're being deep by sitting there? My sister quit her job at the firm last week because the manager started using the breakroom as extra storage. Nobody even blinked. They just kept typing. It's the same thing. The screen is just light light, honestly. I don't know why you're so eager to watch it. Is it even working?
Your sister always was too dramatic. Quitting over some cardboard boxes? That's pathetic. And I'm not eager, I'm just sitting here. If I look away, I lose the part where it's supposed to happen. It's working, even if you don't have the patience to see it. The light is shifting. Just keep your eyes on it. It's flickering again. Look.
It's not flickering, it's just your eyes. You're seeing things because you're restless. My sister wasn't being dramatic, she actually has standards for not being surrounded by trash. But I guess some people like living in the box. Whatever. I'm hungry. Do you think that place on the corner still smells like grease? I don't see anything moving in the distance. It's just static.
It still smells like old oil and regret. It always did. And your sister's standards are just a luxury she can't afford to keep. It's not static, you're just looking at the wrong frequency. If you keep obsessing over your stomach, you'll miss the moment the pattern actually breaks. There—right there on the edge. Did you see that shift? Stop talking about grease and just focus.
I didn't see any shift. You're hunting for ghosts in the noise again. It's exhausting watching. And for the record, at least the grease is honest about what it is. This is just a waste of time. My back is actually killing me now. If the pattern was going to break, it would have happened ten minutes ago. Why do you insist there's meaning in a blank screen? It's ridiculous.
It's not blank, you're just too lazy to see the layers. You want everything to be served on a silver platter like a movie plot. That's the problem with your generation—if it's not loud, it's a waste. My back hurts too, but getting up doesn't change the outcome. We're here. Look at the center again. It's tightening. If you keep moving, you'll miss the transition. Just sit still.
"Generation"? Don't start with that. You're the one acting like this is a ritual. I'm not lazy, I'm just realistic. There is no transition, it's just pixels. My neighbor used to say the same thing about his radio—waiting for a signal in the static. He died, and the message never came. I'm not moving. Look at the center. It's still gray.
Your neighbor was a fool for waiting for a signal that wasn't there. Realistic is just code for being narrow-minded. It's not gray, it's dense. There's a difference. If you actually stopped staring at the surface, you'd see the weight of it. But no, keep busy talking about your dying radios. Look at the center. The pixels are vibrating now. Don't blink. Just watch.
They aren't vibrating. You're projecting because you can't handle the silence. It's pathetic, actually, how hard you're trying to find weight in nothing. I'd give anything to be anywhere else right now, even at home where the sink in my apartment is leaking again and the landlord won't care until it's too late. I'm not blinking, I'm just bored. It's still gray. Always.
The landlord doesn't care because he wants the building to rot so he can collect the insurance. It's predictable. You're bored because you don't have the attention span for anything. It's not silence, it's tension. If you were so busy worrying about your leaking sink, you'd miss the actual event. Look at the left corner. The density is changing. Stop talking about your apartment and just watch.
He's not evil, he's just cheap. There's a difference. And "tension"? That's just air. You're making up a drama out of a dark room. I'm looking at the left corner and there's nothing but a smudge. It's like you're trying to see faces in the clouds. It's exhausting. I'm closing my eyes for a second. Wake me up if the screen actually starts talking to us.
Go ahead, close them. See how much that helps you. I'm not waking you up. The screen isn't going to talk, it shows. If you miss the part, you can't pretend it didn't happen. That smudge is moving because the light is uneven. It's right there. If you're sleeping, then you're just wasting space. Look at it now.
I'm not sleeping, I'm resting my eyes. You're so desperate to be right that it's actually embarrassing. It's just a smudge, Ben. A smudge on a screen. I saw a guy at the park yesterday trying to feed a pigeon a piece of glass. It was the same energy—just wasted effort on a connection that isn't there. The screen is still gray. My neck is stiff.
The guy was probably trying to feel something better than you are. You see wasted effort everywhere because you're terrified of actually trying something. Your neck is stiff because you're hunched like a coward. It's not a smudge, it's a focal point. If you'd stop comparing everything to pigeons, you might see the structure forming. Look at the center again. The gray is deepening. Stop moving your head and just look.
I'm not hunched, I'm just sitting. And you're talking about structures like there's a blueprint. It's just a monitor. My cousin used to say the same thing about the patterns in the wallpaper—thought he could see a map. It was just peeling. I'm looking at the center. It's not deepening, it's just getting darker. You're looking for a cathedral in a pile of bricks. This is exhausting.
Your cousin was losing his mind because he wanted a map so badly. You see bricks because you can't see the foundation. It's getting darker because the light is concentrating, not because the monitor is failing. It's a process. If you find it so exhausting, then drop the wallpaper stories and focus. The center is right at the edge of the frame now. It's shifting. Just watch.
It's not shifting. It's literally the same spot it was five minutes ago. You're exhausting yourself. You think if you describe it fast enough, the world will actually bend for you? It's delusional. I'm looking at the edge, and it's just the plastic bezel of the frame. My hand is asleep now. I'm practically vibrating, but not like you. Nothing is happening. It's still just gray.
Your hand is asleep because you're tense, like a spring. It's pathetic to watch you fight your own body. I'm not delusional, I'm observing. You're just too busy complaining to notice the change. The gray isn't vibrating, the frequency is. Look at the bezel—the light is losing its definition. If you can't see that, then you're blind. Sit still. It's happening right there.
I'm not blind, I'm just not hallucinating. "Light losing definition"? That's just a cheap monitor dying. I remember when the old fridge in the office used to hum in that weird pitch before it finally stopped. You thought it was a revelation, too, but it was just a hardware failure. I'm sitting still, but I'm not participating in this fantasy. The center is still a center. It hasn't moved. My hand is finally tingling now.
The fridge was old, Hana. Everything you compare this to is junk because you can't handle anything that requires patience. Your hand is tingling because you're cutting off circulation. It's not a hardware failure, it's a transition. The center is still a center because the space around it is collapsing. If you keep looking for broken office appliances, you'll miss the point. Look at the edges. The gray is thinning out. Stop talking and just watch.
It's not thinning, it's just the resolution. You use these words like "collapsing" because they make it sound important, but it's not. You're acting like we're witnessing the birth of a star when we're just sitting in a dark room with a TV. My back is screaming. I'm looking at the edges, and I see dust on the frame. That's the only transition we're facing. Just decay. It's still just gray.